


Like Mother

by Thundercatroar



Category: Hey Arnold!
Genre: Comic book and cartoon references out the ass, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Welcome to the shit you used to do Helga, Written Before Hey Arnold!: The Jungle Movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:32:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 272,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26689708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thundercatroar/pseuds/Thundercatroar
Summary: How does the old Hillwood gang handle being the parents of teenagers?
Relationships: Family - Relationship, Helga Pataki/Arnold Shortman, Phoebe Heyerdahl & Gerald Johanssen, Thaddeus "Curly" Gammelthorpe/Rhonda Wellington Lloyd
Kudos: 10





	1. Kung Fu Fighting

For what had the all the makings of a typical, run of the mill day, she was surprised to have received such news, at work no less, and could barely _believe_ what was coming out of the receiver of her telephone. "When did _this_ happen?"

The receptionist on the other end of the conversation told the shocked mother in a curt manner that bordered on rudeness, "The altercation occurred this morning."

The worried mother put her hand on her forehead and sat down at her desk to process the unwanted information. Putting the welfare of her own children at the forefront, she asked, "My kids are okay aren't they?" As an afterthought, the questioning mother then wondered, "And the other ones too?"

The receptionist, who from the tone of her voice had other things she would much rather be doing at the moment than talking to her, responded in a bored refrain, "All involved parties are here waiting for their parents to come to school."

The mother replied, "But,"

The rude receptionist cut the concerned mother off by saying, "The principal would like to meet with you and your husband to discuss disciplinary action for your children as their infraction is rather serious seeing that it was physical in nature."

The angry mother sighed, and pushed her bangs out of her face in frustration. "My husband is not due to be back in town until later this evening, and I am at work right now but," The mother paused and looked at her watch, then the clock hanging on the wall. "I'll be there as soon as I can, but could you _please_ tell me if my children are alright?"

The haughty voice on the other end said with no further concern, "Thank you very much, Mrs.," The telephone line crackled with static. "Goodbye." and the ring tone began.

"Damn it!" The angry woman nearly screamed as she slammed down the receiver, and got up to walk out of her office nursing her temples with her index finger and thumb. " _Well!_ " She said with consternation grateful that the first two patients of her day were not there yet as she lost her temper. " _This_ day is ever so ruined!"

She pulled the case files for her day's appointments out of her cabinet, and spread them on the desk in front of her seeing what could be moved around. As she looked for loopholes in the scheduling, the woman mused unsuccessfully as to what in the world could have happened in the space of two hours that could have made her kids get into a 'physical altercation'.

Her stubborn and somewhat combative daughter she could quite easily see getting in some sort of trouble, but her son?

The only redeeming quality out of the situation was that at least the kids were all right, but she could only assume that was so, she would have thought that surely the receptionist would have told her if they were hurt.

One of the worst things about the less than welcome surprise phone call was that the morning was blooming perfect, and nothing could have possibly been better!

It was thank God Friday, everyone was up on time, there was no squabbling, _or_ physical fighting, and everyone was so happy.

Even the _pig_ had a smile on its face.

She had actually done the mom thing, and literally, from scratch, _cooked_ that day making everyone's favorite "while dad's gone" breakfast dish, which consisted of heavily buttered toast, bacon, juice, and banana blueberry waffles _drowned_ in strawberry jam with fresh whipped cream.

The most remarkable thing about the morning's culinary exploit was that she wasn't forced to fling open every window in the kitchen, and turn the ceiling fan on high to clear smoke out of it, assuring the neighbors that the fire department didn't need to be called because she didn't burn anything!

As a result, she had basked in her rare success all the way from home to work, and as she did, the once excited woman had also looked _extremely_ forward to the coming evening as well.

Her husband would be home after a week and a half's absence from a business trip, and she promised him in their last conversation, _laced_ with insinuations, that his welcome home was going to be rather enjoyable after they shooed the kids away for the evening.

As it stood then, she saw the romantic welcome home interlude flushing down the swirling blue waters of an imaginary commode, and was none too happy about it.

The woman growled through her teeth, sighed, then wrote on paper recording the times for her appointments, then stormed towards the reception area, but before reaching it, put on a passably neutral face for the receptionist. "Denise, has Doctor Bliss arrived yet?"

The young woman looked up at her partial employer and replied, "No, not yet, Doctor." In anticipation, the dutiful receptionist picked up the receiver of her phone. "Would you like for me to page her?"

The desperate woman sighed and put her hand on her forehead trying to think of the best thing to do, finally ceding defeat in her mind, "I hate to have to do this to her, but yes, please do, Denise, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to go to school, and take care of my kids."

"What's wrong?" Denise asked with concern, "They're not sick are they?"

The doctor shook her head negatively. "No, I don't know the exact details of what has happened, but would you please let me know when you get in contact with Dr. Bliss please? I _know_ that I am going to have to cancel at least two of my morning appointments if Liz can't cover them."

The woman smiled with an affirmative nod. "Of course, Doctor."

"Thanks, Denise!" The concerned mother gave the receptionist a buddy point, " _You_ are the very definition of the word lifesaver!" The doctor finished gratefully, and then she trotted back to her office to gather belongings in anticipation of leaving.

* * *

Thad Gammelthorpe got off the phone with the school nurse, ground his teeth together, and ran his hands through his shaggy black hair.

He could just have as easily sent Consuela, his housekeeper, or someone else, but despite the fact that he was dangerously low on sleep, Thad dutifully got up from a much-needed nap, and took a quick shower. After dressing his latest wounds with new gauze, and putting on fresh clothing, he scooped up the keys to his most exotic car; and went down to the garage.

After the morning his girl had suffered, she'd need something to cheer her up a little, he reasoned.

After starting the white car, and allowing the engine to warm for a few moments, Thad set out for Hillwood Hell School to pick up his daughter.

It had been years since he had thought of Hillwood High as "hell" but it was for him as a teen and it seemed that as of late, it had become as such for his child as well.

Courtney had one of the highest grade point averages in school, and was a member of the National Honor Society. Her writings had been published as a guest in the editorial section of _'The Hillwood Times'_ more times than he could remember, she spoke two foreign languages fluently; and was a track star, as well as an accomplished pianist. Colleges were actually scouting _her_ out to enroll in their schools; but Courtney had already chosen to attend his and his wife's Alma Mater, State, so she could take advantage of their music program, and pursue her interest in becoming a professional musician.

Now, the once free spirited happy girl he called his "Princess" was withdrawn and solitary.

The girl had always been eccentric, and Thad gathered that the love of his life had been extremely correct in the joking theory that Courtney had too much of his blood running through her veins. Because of such, added to her unique view of the world, and admittedly odd behavior at times, she never really had many close friends growing up.

However, Thaddeus Gammelthorpe was quite proud of his little girl for the way she always seemed to take people as she found them and treated them with respect, even though she tended to keep them at a distance from her innermost self.

Eccentric behavior to hide in plain sight of his contemporaries was his defense mechanism as a kid, and he gathered that Courtney had by either genetics, or example, taken it as her own as well.

Thad knew that Courtney had been teased a bit in school because of her success, but he was glad that at least she did have a good group of children she knew from his old neighborhood to go to school with.

Most of them seemed to like her except one; and they all were the children of the people that _he_ had grown up with, the Johanssen's, Horowitz's, Burman's, the S..., a trilling noise broke his concentration for a moment, but he ignored it in favor of dwelling on the unpleasant.

Courtney's mother tried to bring her out of her shell by taking her shopping, which the girl despised with a passion, but put up with for her mother's sake. Added to those attempts, Rhonda would throw small intimate parties and sleepovers for her girl too.

They had even sent their daughter to The Young Sophisticate after School Polishing Academy for Boys and Girls a full three years early to meet new children and make some friends. The girl already had more manners and sense than her peers, and thanks to her mother knew what a fish knife was, but Courtney tended to keep to herself in a corner, so she didn't make any friends at all. Ultimately, the only people whom she would allow closest to her were her mother, he, and the staff of the house, whom she loved dearly.

Unfortunately, now that her best friend was gone, the girl retreated more and more into schoolwork, track meets, an after school job, and herself.

Now, when he and his daughter spent time together, it was usually only for meals. Courtney was always respectful to him, but the happy playful banter that he, his wife, and daughter once enjoyed was a thing of the long gone past.

Bubbly conversation, boisterous laughter over the happenings of the day, and hilarious jokes had been replaced by pointed silence; accentuated only by the sounds of clattering silverware and the sliding of a chair to leave when finished eating after asking to be excused. After dinner, the door to Courtney's room was closed without fail, and not opened until the next morning for the ritual to be faithfully repeated the next day.

When she fulfilled all of her scholarly obligations like homework, Courtney's time was filled with composing music, surfing the Internet, adding to the expensive toy collections she was building, and DVDs for solace.

Courtney was a good girl, and never really asked for much, so Thad indulged her hobbies on birthdays, Christmas; and sometimes just because. In this way the concerned father tried to reach out to his hurting daughter in the hopes that their mutual interests in comics and toys could be the bridge in which they could meet halfway, and allow him to help her deal with her grief, by proxy his own, but that too was a false hope.

The girl stayed so much within her own world, living life from the inside while shutting everything and everyone out in the process, that Thad didn't know how to connect with his girl anymore.

The caring father knew that his daughter needed help, outside help, if she were going to overcome the events that brought Courtney to her currently unhealthy state.

In desperation, he tried to convince her to let him take her to one of his oldest friends, a kind woman specializing in child psychology to help her through her feelings. Ultimately, Courtney refused to go, citing she didn't need some greedy, one hundred fifty dollar an hour psychiatrist to dissect her thoughts like a split open frog in biology lab.

Lying to both him and herself by saying simply, _'I'm over it'_.

Thad knew that forcing Courtney to go for counseling would drive a further wedge between them, so he decided to give her space for the time being, but he knew that this could not go on forever, and he had to help her, whether she liked it or not.

While driving he thought about the last few months and could barely keep from fluctuating between sorrow and rage.

Stopped at a light he asked himself not caring who saw, "What can I do for her? What will I say?" His eyes stung as he turned the simple gold wedding band on his finger with his thumb as the electronic device sounded once again, annoying him for his attention. "She's been through so much, too much...and now _this_?" Thad gripped the steering wheel of the tiny sports car tightly and resumed his drive.

' _This wasn't supposed to happen,_ ' Thaddeus thought to himself in sadness.

Finally forced to acknowledge the tiny trill in the pocket of his pants, the irritated man picked the noisy device out of his pocket, read the message, took the battery out of it in anger, and then carelessly threw it down on the padded seat beside him.

"There," Thad said with a bitter tone, "Hillwood City can wait for a damn change."

* * *

Two siblings, twins, sat in a wide glaring white office waiting for the inevitable flames of hell that were surely racing to engulf them both. Rightfully worried at the prospect, the teens sat with their arms crossed leaning back in their chairs as small bags of freezing ice sweated into their shirts and pants, bleeding into the fabric.

Soon enough, the other kids involved in the fight that morning were lead into the office by the vice principal to another room. As the three boys filed past, the two largest of them gave the seated female twin a wide berth out of striking distance of her feet and fists with their eyes lit in genuine fear of her.

As the last boy, a redhead with a swollen nose walked by, the twin girl surreptitiously rubbed her middle finger on her forehead dramatically, making _sure_ that he would notice.

In turn, the foolish boy glared at her in the attempt of being intimidating, but he only succeeded in looking more stupid in the girl's opinion, and as the boy began to round the corner out of sight, he took one last scowling look at her.

In response, the sarcastic girl closed her eyes, raised her hand to her nose, and fake sneezed, " _Asshole_ ".

The red headed boy turned with his teeth clenched together as if he were going to challenge the affront, but his friends tugged him by his letter jacket down the hall away from her.

The girl's brother chuckled while cracking a wide smile despite the pain in his face, responding, "Bless you." As his sister's face twisted into a perverted smile for him, then added a wink, the two touched their balled fists together in their typical sign of sibling solidarity.

The receptionist looked up at the two kids favoring them with a glare before going back to her typing.

As time passed, the kids' eyes explored every inch of the details of the office, if nothing else to keep their minds off what was surely coming as they took nervous glances out of the plate glass office window, looking for their most likely extremely irritated mother.

The girl concentrated on the fluorescent light tube that was in the last days of its life as it hung above the mean spirited receptionist. Electricity wildly pulsed inside the tube, making it look alive with a show of intermittent waving light and shadow, illuminating the secretary's hair with a strange aura.

Secretly, the seated girl hoped it would explode, sending thin shards of hot glass downwards that would embed themselves into the hateful receptionist's stiff, overly sprayed hairdo, setting it on fire, in the process making her bald as she screamed in horror.

Alternately, the boy who sat beside the girl had his eyes focused on the floor while his dirty white sneakers shuffled on the short, grey, and stained carpet purposelessly in nervous energy.

Looking to the side, he noticed that the worn floor covering was nearly threadbare in front of the door with the in and out traffic of the office in the form of faculty, and the poor wretched souls who shuffled in and out of the doors for their measure of "justice".

If the principal knew what had happened in the hall that morning, the two of them probably wouldn't even be sitting there bored to tears, and scared shitless waiting for their mother to arrive.

The sandy blonde haired boy snapped that thought out of his head quickly enough.

The school principal was renowned for being unfair, and across the board, society rarely rewarded people for doling out just desserts. All he had to do for reference of that poignant fact was the vigilante hero of Hillwood City, Monkeyman.

The guy, or who everyone was pretty sure was a guy, was a hero the boy felt, and certainly did a great deal to try to keep the streets of Hillwood City safe and return the stolen property of its defenseless residents.

Instead of the gratitude of a city for a job well done, there was a quarter million dollar reward hanging over Monkeyman's head for information leading to his capture and arrest, and there were a couple of times in which the vigilante was _almost_ caught too.

Both escapes from the authorities were emblazoned across _The Hillwood Times_ , which served to gain supporters for the hero, add to the vigilante's already formidable legend, and infuriate the frustrated police even more in one fell swoop.

Of course, the repentant boy thought of his actions over the past year, and with shame for his behavior, came to the regretful realization that until a few months ago, he had been no better than the people he had fought with that day.

When done scrutinizing himself and his foolish actions, he surmised that he rightfully deserved whatever he got from his adversaries that morning, from his parents later, and that wasn't enough.

On the way to the office, people in the halls lauded his actions along with that of his sister, but he knew that _he_ wasn't any kind of selfless hero as she was, but a foolish penitent with an apology paid in blood that was much too little, a lot too late.

Outside, the kind school nurse took a quick glance inside the office, and it was truly pitiful, the sight of the twin siblings sitting together in silent independent contemplation of the hell that they were sure that they were going to suffer when their mother got there.

The twins' mother was a good person, and Sheena loved her to death, but she also remembered that her friend had a temper too. She had mellowed out quite nicely over the years, but from time to time, that legendary anger got the better of her, and it would impair her ability to see reason for a time.

As such, Sheena had already made up her mind to linger in the hall, and wait to see the kids' mother, as well as Courtney's father in the hopes of clarifying a few of the events that unfolded in the hallway.

It certainly couldn't hurt to gild the lily a little, if nothing else for the twins' sake.

* * *

In the office, unknown to the other, both twins were wondering and weighing carefully what their responses would be to the questions their father would be asking calmly that night when he was home.

Also weighing heavily in their minds was what they were going to say to assuage the temper of their mother as she yelled loudly about the entire ordeal when they got home after she picked them up.

Knowing their mother, she just might cut loose and let them have it verbally at school, right there in the office.

Compounding matters, what had transpired that morning would become a legendary battle to spread like a raging wildfire through school via gossip.

Even though they were fairly popular, as well as used to a certain amount of notoriety both on and off campus for their exploits, it was never for reasons like this; and the battle with the three football players had not been without grave cost either.

Receiving the worst of the fight by far, the boy had a split lip, the recipe for a black eye, and a small cut above that. Added to the curiosity of the cut, there was also a piece of toilet paper plastered onto his face, having already served its purpose to staunch the flow of blood from the wound.

When he stopped bleeding, at first he tried to pick the unsightly decoration off with no success.

Later, with no invitation whatsoever, his sibling's clumsy intrusive fingers and long nails tried to dislodge the irksome, blackened paper, creating even more discomfort, but by then the blood had dried the paper into the wound and it wouldn't budge. The poor boy's sister had to admit touching her brother's blood covered forehead, even though it looked cool, was still gross; so after her brother slapped her hand away with a glare, they simply left the dark red stained paper there.

He looked utterly ridiculous, and a few people passing by the office during class change had already peered through the window to point and chuckle at him.

The female sitting beside him joked and said, "It looks like you cut yourself shaving your unibrow, Genius."

The ugly receptionist looked up from her typing and rudely admonished with a crooked looking index finger, "No talking!" The teenaged girl glared at the receptionist, and mentally gave her the finger.

Despite the fact that his sister had helped him tremendously in the altercation against the three football players who had tried to use his head and neck as a practice dummy, she had still insulted him, and he harshly whispered through his teeth, " _Bite me_."

The girl looked at her brother in mild disgust and said with an angry voice mingled with disappointment, "Bite me. That's the _best_ you could do?" The girl raised her sore hands and wiggled her fingers in his face. "Ooooooooh! I'm shakin', Sh."

In turn, the hurt boy gave his sister a glare to make her stop, because _obviously_ she felt as if they weren't in enough trouble as it was, and as if on cue, the receptionist said, "Quiet!" And the girl sighed harshly and flung her back into her chair once again, flicking her long blonde ponytail out from in between her shoulders and the back of the chair with a jerk of her head.

Her brother then took a deep breath through his nose, exhaled forcefully and leaned back further in the chair rubbing his sore neck, but at least it didn't hurt as bad as it did a few minutes ago.

The triumph of lessened pain meant nothing however as he watched the second hand of the large clock on the wall as it ticked unerringly away with dread weighing heavily on both of them. Each circle of the second hand around the dial of the clock drew them closer to the time in which their mother's red-hot fuming eyes would be squinted at them in high disapproval.

There was a light tap on the window and the girl looked up in horror thinking it was her mother, but felt reprieved to see that it was only she and her brother's shared best friend.

With concern, the tall, brown-skinned boy mouthed, _'You two okay?'_ The girl leaned forward, smirking as she held up her bruised fists, winking at her friend as he cracked a wide white smile. Unable to stop himself, he allowed a loud "Ha!" burst from his mouth in glee until he caught sight of his other friend's face and grimaced in sympathetic pain, with the injured boy simply looking away, giving no response.

The receptionist pointed to the boy in the window to leave, and as he was about to reluctantly obey, the girl held her thumb and pinky finger up to her cheek mouthing _'call me later'_ to him. The boy outside nodded, gave both siblings the thumbs up sign, and departed as the receptionist acted as if she were going to leave her seat. "This is my last warning, you two _will_ be quiet or _else_!"

Not even caring about what the receptionist had to say, having earned the nickname, _The Bitch_ in her mind, the girl followed her best friend's fading presence with a barely noticeable eye and head movement. When she couldn't gaze upon him wistfully any longer without detection, she took a quiet breath of air and made a more audible sigh as she exhaled.

None of any of her actions were missed by the girl's brother however, and for quite awhile he, and _everyone else_ they knew, had been wondering how long it was going to take his best friend and sister to _finally_ admit that they were nuts about each other.

God knew it was high time in _his_ opinion that the two of them got together as a romantically inclined couple, instead of playing the masochistic, extremely childish " _he's just a friend_ " game they seemed to enjoy torturing themselves with daily. As time wore on, it was becoming woefully pathetic, that much was for certain, because their affinity for one another was completely obvious, and the only people they were fooling with their act were themselves.

The wiser boy wouldn't ever _dare_ say anything to his sister about the boy who was much more than a friend to her; because that was something she needed to work out for herself, as if he should be dispensing advice to the lovelorn anyway.

With an audible sigh, and glance at her, he reasoned that his sister was so damn stubborn anyway, if he did acknowledge his awareness of the sickening crush she had on the Johannsen boy, she wouldn't have anything to do with their friend just to make him wrong.

The boy sighed and leaned back in the hard chair, putting the bag of ice back on his burning, aching face.

* * *

Kyo Johannsen walked to his next class knowing he probably would _not_ be seeing either of his friends for a while, hoping that the girl would at least have telephone and internet privileges.

He _knew_ that she probably wouldn't, but he _could_ hope.

Kyo was truly sorry for her brother also, but he was already missing his other best friend a little bit more.

She was so strong, smart, funny, and God knew loyal too; and for that, he admired her.

In all truthfulness, she and her brother argued almost _constantly_ about one silly thing or another, but her unconditional love for her sibling came shining through when the she fought, and ultimately kicked the holy hell out of three gigantic football players just to protect him.

As Kyo seethed at the injustice of the fight that started it all, and he felt that her brother shouldn't be punished, but it wasn't fair that _she_ was in trouble at all!

She had truly saved her brother from getting hurt really badly.

It _was_ true that her brother started the fight, but only for the most noble of reasons, and what was _she_ supposed to do? Let her outnumbered and out muscled brother get beaten to a bloody pulp un-checked?

Kyo tried unsuccessfully to explain to teachers and the principal what really happened in the hall that morning to make the girl get involved in the fight, but they all refused to listen to him. In fact, the principal had threatened to call his parents if he didn't leave for his second class for interfering.

Not needing the trouble, he obeyed all the while feeling like a coward who could have done more, but was grateful when the kind school nurse, Mrs. Horowitz, told him that she had actually seen the events that had taken place, that the right people would hear the truth, and not to worry.

Kyo sighed, and took a last glance towards the office window. Thankfully the girl was staring upwards, so the devoted boy stopped in the hall to gaze upon her for a moment, so grateful that she didn't notice him looking.

Looks certainly weren't everything, but with a blush, the smitten boy thought of how truly beautiful the girl in the office was, in _and_ out, as he turned to walk away before she caught him staring at her.

He had almost worked up the courage to tell how he felt about her while he was tutoring her, but that frame of time was hot on the heels of what he ruefully called "The Tim Episode". Kyo also had reservations about admitting his love, therefore he had doubts, so in classic fashion, completely chickened out.

It was probably for the best ultimately, because his friend needed time to get over the pompous jerk, and she really wasn't ready to crank up with someone new.

Kyo's reticence bought him time anyway, because how in the world are you supposed to inform a friend, much less a best friend that you do not want to be _'just the best friend'_ anymore anyway?

That you wanted more.

That you were in love.

Only one thing was for sure in his dynamic between him and his best friend. Kyo knew that he didn't have some silly, dumb little kid crush, or a carnal infatuation that could be easily explained away by raging hormones either.

With great truth and heartfelt sincerity, Kyo could say that he was truly in love with her.

Downheartedly however, Kyo thought that if he did ever get the courage to tell her how he felt, and she didn't feel the same way, they couldn't even have their friendship anymore because then it would just get weird.

When she had the pick of any guy in school she could possibly want in the first place, why would someone like _her_ want a complete and total nerd like _him_ anyway?

With that last, self-deprecating thought crushing his soul, Kyo's heart felt as if it could break as he trudged to his next class, wishing that _he_ were the kind of guy she wanted.

* * *

The injured boy sitting in the office next to his sister touched his cold cheek, and could have sworn that in the space of twenty minutes the right side of his face had gained fifty pounds.

He was already having trouble keeping his eye open despite the fact that the school nurse had taken pity on him and his sister and brought them both one flimsy plastic bag of ice wrapped in a thin folded brown paper towel apiece. The ice didn't help much with the pain and in fact made it a little worse due to the stinging coldness of the compress.

The boy mused that Mrs. Horowitz was a nice woman, and couldn't remember if he had thanked her or not when she gave he and his sister the ice, but he hoped that he did. He and his sister were friends with her son, Gene, daughter, Jella; and had known the sweet natured nurse and her husband Eugene for as long as they could remember.

He pressed his wet ice pack against his stinging split lip now; and his crazy sister applied her own ice to the swelling of her bruised knuckles, all the while stealing loving, prideful glances at them.

As he continued to watch his sister in a disturbed fashion as she admired her fists of fury, the smile she bore on her face was indescribably malevolent looking as her dark eyebrows cascaded downwards, towards her squinting, glistening green eyes.

Despite the fact that they were both, in his sister's favorite, non-legal term of measurement, which was an "assload" of trouble, the boy just _knew_ that the nut job _had_ to be recounting her contact with his attackers.

Even though he didn't have a problem with his sister decking every last one of them, _especially_ the jerk who had treated her so badly, he thought that at least she should reign in her behavior until they found out what was going to be done with them in terms of punishment.

 _"She's freakin' enjoying this!"_ The boy thought as he looked at her with disbelief.

The girl, noticing her brother's stares, puckered her lips, made a kissing motion with them, and then belched his name flawlessly, with a wet resonance that would be the envy of any adolescent male or grown man for that matter.

"That was disgusting! Do you mind?" The receptionist asked in annoyance.

Inclined to agree with the hateful receptionist, the girl's brother was much more vocal, "Christ, Woman!" he exclaimed with disgust as he waved away the hellish stench of his sister's stomach contents, and violently blew it out of his nose. "That's not just waffles! What _else_ did you eat this morning?"

The girl responded, "What was left of the pastrami, why?"

The receptionist said with irritation, "Quiet!" As her eyebrows went down into an angry slant making her look even uglier looking if such a thing were possible. "I'm _not_ going to say it _again_!"

Both kids quieted, the boy respectfully, the girl grudgingly.

The boy settled back down into his throne of dread and he couldn't help but entertain thoughts that wondered if his sister were female or not.

She _was_ female in all of the "academic" terms, but as far as the way she acted, she was more like his friends on the basketball team, rather than the fragile, dew-frosted petal of a lovely rose.

Taking a surreptitious glance at his sister, the grateful boy had to think that at least she was on _his_ side this time.

With that thought, and a heavy sigh, he leaned his head back on the wall behind him, and tried to get at least a little comfortable, if such a thing were possible.

Meanwhile, the tomboy continued recounting the glory of her many-tiered victory mentally.

Everyone would think long and hard before contemplating the folly of screwing with the dynamic duo the school paper called " _The Wonder Twins_ " any time too soon!

The girl smirked and put her freezing hands behind head smoothly, imagining the low, satisfied growl of a Wookie while recounting the fight in minute detail.

She had smashed the happy crap right out of Tim Donovan's nose, and made the rotten little turd cry like a bitch to boot, the girl smirked to herself.

Vengefully, she hoped that the gutter slut cheerleader her ex was cheating on her with, and still dating, could keep the non-eaten lunch in her flat little stomach down when she saw his beaten face the next time!

Then her smile turned to a scowl, and she couldn't believe that Tim had _actually_ wrapped his hands around her brother's neck and tried to choke him! That was why she had attacked the colossal prick so violently in the first place; it was just serendipity that she got a little payback along with the deal.

Then his dumbass friends _tried_ to attack _her_ for all the good it did them.

She was fairly sure that all of those stupid ass boys must have had a death wish, or enjoyed the pain she inflicted on them or something, because they sure kept getting up for more, and she was only too happy to oblige them.

Actually, if Kyo hadn't stepped in and separated her from the boys she was kicking the crap out of, she might not have held back much longer. She knew as a fact that she could have broken the noses, ribs, arms and legs of all her brother's attackers with great ease, done even worse harm if she had really wanted to.

It was true that she hadn't started the row, and she knew very well that her father, mother, and godmother had not taught her the martial arts to use as a form of attack. As the fight wore on and her pississity began to rise to its highest peak though, she started not to care so much if anyone she tagged got hurt badly or not.

The girl knew feeling like that wasn't right, and it certainly was not the way that she had been raised to act. With that revelation, she felt as if she had let her mom and dad down with her behavior and felt an emotion that she didn't have too terribly often.

Shame.

Thank goodness her brave friend was there to keep the situation from taking her choice to be gentle with the boys out of her control.

Kyo had saved her from herself yet again.

The girl slightly smiled, and the furrows on her brow lightened as she started thinking of the lovely boy who was her best friend.

The two of them had known each other their entire lives. Her father and mother were best friends with his father and mother actually. Despite the fact that they all got older, and wound up going to different middle schools, the two of them still stayed in contact.

When they were scholastically reunited, and started ninth grade at Hillwood, something even cooler had clicked between the two of them, and over time the sweet boy managed to become her very best friend. She had to admit being best friends with a male was not the norm, but a better friend she could not hope for, and she was grateful to have him in her life.

Kyo _definitely_ wasn't a jock, and she hung out with the sports playing kids mostly, but this guy was so different from the other people she knew, _especially_ boys.

He liked to watch professional sports, but he was never in particularly good at the ones she excelled in. Kyo was a stupendously shitty basketball player and he couldn't swing a baseball bat worth a damn, but he _was_ lethal with a foil, sword, or bokken. Her godmother Phoebe had taught him how to fence with foil, epee, saber, and how to fight with a katana, and she loved to go to her friend's house every chance she got to watch him practice with the sword.

It was so beautiful to watch Kyo execute flawless katas, and sometimes, as a treat, he would toss her a spare bokken and give her a lesson.

Kyo was certainly brave to risk the folly of doing so, because despite the fact that she didn't mean to; she always seemed to accidentally manage to hurt him at some point during every lesson due to a missed blow to a hand, leg, or some other extremity.

His mother, Phoebe, had kindly tried to teach her the art of tantojutsu, but after a first try beginning with a trip to the emergency room, and ending with nine stitches to the palm of her left hand; her own mother put her foot down and forbade any more training unless she commit jigai accidentally.

At least sword and knife play were something physical she actually stank at, and she was glad that Kyo could at least have those skills above hers.

The girl mused that if they lived in thirteenth through seventeenth century Europe, or pre-Meiji restoration Japan; Kyo's skills as a master swordsman would have been in high demand.

Unfortunately, here in twenty first century America, Kyo Johannsen's skills were a footnote of another more violent or elegant time, based on your perception of the history of warfare of course.

However, the boy's ability to carve a man to pieces like a Thanksgiving turkey was not the only advantage to being his friend.

Kyo was considerate and humble, which was something that many of her idiotic jock friends, both male and female, could certainly stand to learn a little more about. She also enjoyed the fact that Kyo knew how to talk about something other than sports, and the drama of who just broke up with whom in the school too.

'K, as she and her brother both called him, was also super nice, cracker jack smart, witty, and hilarious.

He could quote _The Book of Five Rings_ verbatim along with Socrates, Virgil, and Shakespeare. The boy could whistle Gershwin's complete _Rhapsody in Blue_ without screwing it up, and could recite entire episodes of the Monty Python show, and lines from the same movies. Kyo could do funny foreign accents, impersonations of movie as well as cartoon characters, and made the absolute _best_ fart noises with his armpits.

If you said the word "booger" milk would shoot out of his nose if he were drinking it too.

How well rounded he was, but Kyo was so much _more_.

She didn't know why he bothered to go to basketball games or swimming meets seeing how much he didn't care for either sport, or many of the people participating, but Kyo was always the first to cheer in the stands for the whole team whether they all won or lost.

If she were pissed off, which was rather frequently, he knew how to cheer her up, and forget what had angered her, and if she had a problem, or needed something, Kyo was the first person she called, always seeming happy to oblige.

Even though she didn't want to believe it at first, along with her brother, like a true friend, he also clued her in on what seemed like everyone in school knew when her turd of a boyfriend was cheating on her. When the situation came to a head, Kyo did one better, and helped her get over both the break-up along with the stupid, untrue gossip that revolved around her.

Most importantly the kind boy helped her keep her places on the swimming and basketball teams by bringing her math grades up with his tutoring, and anybody who could nurse her through algebra, not lose patience, and refrain from the understandable urge to strangle her to death just _had_ to be special.

The student tutors and teachers assigned to help her had pretty much given up on her, of course, the headstrong girl was of the opinion that the teachers and students who were supposed to help her all were an anomaly to the laws of physics, because they both sucked and blew at the same time.

When they all graduated in May of next year, they would be going to State together, and she couldn't wait!

She knew that life would be wonderful sharing a dorm with her brother, but getting to spend even more time with the other boy was the simply the sweet icing on the cake.

Overall, Kyo Phillip Johannsen was wonderful, marvelous, and in short, perfect in every way!

There wasn't _anything_ she couldn't tell this guy except, well, lately there was something about him that made her feel kind of _funny_ inside.

What that feeling was, she gathered, was something akin to a deep loyalty and kinship, because surely it was absolutely nothing _else_.

Right?

So, the nervous girl pondered if they were just friends, why did she feel so awkward, dumb and nervous around Kyo lately?

It seemed to be as of late that every time she tried to talk to him, her tongue rebelled against her, and made her say stupid things when there was the conspicuous lack of conversation.

Added to her verbal grace, she was physically awkward around him too; constantly tripping, backing into, and knocking things over when he was in her presence.

Nevertheless, as she said, they were just friends, right?

Outside of that friendship, why would she be worried about what he thought of her anyway? She knew he liked her to begin with; they _were_ best friends after all.

Like always though, the nagging questions that pecked her mind like hungry desert vultures ate away at the carcass of her image, and with that, her thoughts worked around the never-ending circle of her self-doubt.

Was she cool?

Did _Kyo_ think she was okay or did he think she was a goof?

Did he really like being around her or did he feel pity for her?

Did he think that she was a little cute maybe?

Could he love her like she loved him?

Did Kyo even _like_ her like _that_?

Probably not, the girl pondered downheartedly, especially after seeing her in action that morning.

What boy would want a girl who could do the damage she could if he tried to kiss her or something?

Besides, the specter of her misgivings cruelly cajoled from the back of her burdened mind, the last attempt she made at a romantic relationship had sunk like the Titanic. Even _if_ Kyo _would_ have anything to do with her, in the end it could turn out to be a big steaming pile of crap too, then it would be weird between them.

The handsome boy in question for some reason certainly didn't date much though.

Sure, he would go to " _The Sugar Shack_ " and eat heavily salted onion rings with ketchup, maple syrup, hot sauce, and slimy nacho cheese on them in the company of girls from time to time. Outside of those activities, however, that was as far as the relationships he had with women went, so Kyo had never had the curious organism hanging on his arm otherwise known as a steady girlfriend.

The curious girl wondered if Kyo's _more_ than just a little odd taste in food had anything to do with his lack of female companionship. With the evidence she had gathered over an extended length of time however, she had to judge that by the groping eyes, giggles, and sighs of other girls she had seen and heard in the halls when Kyo passed by; eating weird combinations of crap had nothing to do with it.

Therefore, definitely unknown to him, Mr. Johannsen had inadvertently become a heart breaker, and you could cut the unrequited love at school with a knife.

All of the girls in the non-sports related clubs she belonged to, French club, Latin club, and art society; thought Kyo was smoking hot, and rightly so. Many disappointed girls expressed the heartfelt desire that he would ask one of them out on a date sometime.

The infatuated girl would never admit it aloud, but she wouldn't mind going on a date with him either, hell, she would watch _paint_ dry on a wall with Kyo.

With some thought, she actually _had_ done that before, she recalled, last fall, when " _aunt_ " Phoebe and " _uncle_ " Gerald paid she and he fifty dollars apiece to re-paint their living room.

The girl sighed, and wondered _when_ exactly was it _she_ found that her best friend had a handsome face?

The girl's warm heart _pounded_ when she thought of meetings, scenarios, incidents, and _exchanges_ in which she could be mere inches away from it, happily gazing into his slightly slanted, gorgeous dark brown eyes. She could almost feel his warm, sweet breath whisper against her moist lips in anticipation of a breathtaking kiss.

While she was fantasizing, she might as well go on ahead and drop in on her favorite location in historically inaccurate la-la land.

She would be clad in a shining white kimono, embossed with golden designs of bonsai trees, standing atop the tall roof of a wooden castle in ancient Edo, masked with quiet darkness.

As she contemplated her place in the feudal hierarchy that would deny a forbidden love such as theirs, she would wait expectantly for the Shogun of her heart to secretly meet, and woo her.

When Kyo arrived, she would divest the handsome samurai of his faceplate, helmet, and lamellar armor; revealing the lavish, sumptuously soft, woven silk court dress concealed underneath. His daisho would be separated, with his katana being taken from him, leaving the wakizashi and tanto tucked by his side in the wrappings around his waist.

She would then fold her arms around the broad, sinewy, well-toned shoulders of her secret love; lean her soft cheek into his clothed, well-muscled chest, and sigh in satisfaction as light snow began to settle on their shoulders. Around them, the tall pine and spruce trees that dotted the landscape would beautifully glow with their moonlit dusting of snow.

Even though it would be cold, her white skin tingled when she thought of the warmth she would enjoy, as he would pull her closer to his warm body, imbibing Kyo's whimsically delicious fragrance mingled with the scent of the oil of cloves that he used to polish his swords, only to become more intoxicated.

The warrior poet would slowly brush his hand across her cheek with the back of his hand while gazing deeply into her eyes. Then, after a tortuously overlong time, Kyo would finally draw her lips to his for a kiss that would last forever as their shuddering bodies met, shivering not from the cold, but from the burning desire for one another which had been banked for much too long.

After that, he would lead her away.

She bit the corner of her bottom lip with half-lidded eyes at the thoughts that raced through her mind after that last bit of revelation.

Despite the ugly rumor Tim spread after they broke up, she had little context for what she and Kyo would enjoy after that heated, heart pounding kiss. If the romance novels she had checked out of the public library with her forged adult card, and cleverly sneaked under the nose of her mother to read were _true_ though,

The office door opened, and the fiercely blushing girl jumped with a start out of her vivid daydream.

Both twins looked up terrified expecting their mother, but instead watched Courtney Gammelthorpe walk through the door with the school nurse.

The emotionless brunette took a seat on the middle chair against the opposing wall in front of the twins. She first took a glance at the brave girl seated across from her, and then found her sibling, feeling uncomfortable at the wholly human look that her usually soulless bully was giving her.

The boy gazed at Courtney with his piercing blue eyes while fidgeting in his seat as he studied her, looking as if he had something he urgently wanted to say, but couldn't pierce the silence with it to save his life.

The boy's sister watched her brother and the other girl's reaction to one another in great interest, soon focusing solely on her brother, giving him a sympathetic, knowing glance that she was grateful he hadn't seen.

She _knew_ his darkest secret, and it was something that he would sooner die than divulge, but still, she did.

In fact, the boy's sister had known for quite awhile, _despite_ her accidental discovery.

It wasn't as if her brother had anybody fooled _anyway_ , any moron with eyes and the wits of a half-brained monkey could see it. The concerned girl just wished that the idiot would have the balls to come out with how he felt about Courtney, and let the whole damn thing be done and over one way or another.

Seriously she wondered, just how pussy could you possibly get?

The whole thing was complicated though, and she could understand why he wouldn't say anything. Despite the fact of everything that had transpired that day, and even though he had _totally_ gotten his ass kicked for her benefit, Courtney _still_ might not even _like_ her brother. Taking a glance to the side, it was obvious that it didn't matter to him anyway, judging by the way that he was staring at his dream girl.

One time, she had sneaked into his closet in full disregard of his prior threats of death against the trespass to borrow a pair or sneakers and a football.

What she found tucked inside the small closet in a large shoebox she accidentally found surprised the sunny freakin' hell out of her. Granted, she had to admit that the discovery was somewhat sweet and endearing, but for the same reason, all _very_ disturbing at the same time.

The evidence residing inside that simple cardboard box was certainly damning, especially concerning how he acted towards and treated the girl seated across from them in the in the past.

As such, she never disclosed to her brother that she had gone into his closet, nor what she found hoarded underneath the piles of dirty sweat socks and t-shirts either. The reason why she hadn't teased her brother over her findings wasn't that she feared her brother's threats or retaliation; because she was _sure_ she could take him, but instead because she loved him, and respected his secret love for the girl seated across from them.

Reflecting solemnly upon the knowledge that there certainly was a much deeper side to her brother than he would ever dare let on, she wished that her brother would show it more, adding quickly in her mind please dear God in heaven, just not to the point of being sickening with it.

Maybe if he showed Courtney how much he cared about her, she would forgive his behavior, and her heart might warm towards him.

The caring sister hoped so for her brother's sake, because his unrequited love for Ms. Gammelthorpe had nearly driven him as insane as a mouse in a tin toilet, and had made him do some rather worrisome things, even by "guy" standards.

As such, the worried girl could not _begin_ to handle the mere thought of her poor stupid lovesick idiot brother standing under " _Cheetara_ " Gammelthorpe's multi-million dollar balcony, _belching_ samples of that God-awful bad poetry about the young woman in question like a cut rate Romeo.

He didn't even _bother_ to write the cornea burning verses she discovered on regular paper either, but instead opted to record it on the cut out blank inside of an empty ' _Bacon And Eggs'_ cereal box. With the thoughts of that, the girl rolled her eyes, and shifted the ice on her worst hand as she continued to observe.

As all the kids sat contemplating in worlds of their own, the hurt boy stole small ashamed glances at the girl across from him like a dog that had been scourged with snow chains wrapped in barbed wire.

Courtney was all he had thought about for years, but in the past few months up to that very minute it had become almost unbearable.

The lean girl, ignoring him completely, stretched her back, popped her neck, and then removed her pullover. The boy's head crooked towards her in interest, and he gasped gently when her undershirt pulled up a little along with the pullover; revealing a taught, muscular abdomen, and the subtlest hint of the bottom of a royal blue brassiere.

As Courtney scrambled to pull down her shirt with a blush, the boy in turn tried to be courteous as he swallowed hard and _tried_ to train his attention elsewhere, but in his peripheral vision, the lovesick boy never lost sight of the object of his furtive gaze.

In turn, the boy's highly entertained sister was forced to curl her fingers around her lips to cover a giggle with a feigned cough at her brother's genuine, but failed attempt at being chivalrous.

Not even noticing his sister, the longing boy had been timing his infatuated gazes in tune with Courtney's attention being momentarily elsewhere, but the law of averages soon caught up with him however, and he found that with his next blue eyed gaze, she was returning his.

Courtney didn't have her glasses on because they were broken, so nothing stood as a barrier between the gorgeous grey green orbs that met his, the very windows to her aching soul.

The unsurpassed beauty of them had haunted the boy's dreams and imagination since the terribly sad night he first really noticed them, and in that moment, all he wanted to do was get on his knees in front of her, and apologize for every horribly mean thing he had ever said or done to her since he had known her. Then, if his courage didn't fail him, he would beg her forgiveness, wanting nothing more than to hold her, never letting go.

After that, no one would ever dare injure Courtney's kind heart, or ridicule her beautiful soul again, especially him.

The girl cut him a look that was undefined, then as if by agreement, both were concentrating intently on ignoring one another from then on, Courtney's arms crossing in guarding consternation; the boy's, hanging by his sides flaccid and weak.

The boy's sister put her hand on her forehead while shaking her head with a wide grin, not caring if either of them noticed or not.

Should she help him?

She was infamous for her matchmaking.

If she could perform the equivalent of an act of God, and get her stubborn ass swimming team friend, Jella Horowitz and even _more_ stubborn ass basketball team friend, Andrea Burman together as a couple; then _surely_ she could hook her brother up with Courtney Gammelthorpe with no problem whatsoever.

The nurse walked into the office and put her hand on Courtney's shoulder. "Courtney, your father is on the way to pick you up. Are you sure you're okay, Dear?"

The young, raven-haired girl looked up at Mrs. Horowitz with neutral eyes, but her only response was a curt nod in the positive.

The kind nurse smiled and asked, "Would you like for me to stay here with you?"

The girl shook her head and replied in flat monotone, "No, I'm fine, but thank you, Mrs. Horowitz."

With that, the nurse gave the twins seated across from Courtney a kind glance, then sympathetic smile, leaving to walk down the hall to stand in the doorway of her office to wait for their parents' arrival with a fond smile reflecting, "So much like their mother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Arnold was created by Craig Bartlett and is owned by Viacom Inc. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> Thundercats was created by Ted Wolf and its related characters are the property of Time Warner Inc. No infringement on their property is implied or should be inferred.
> 
> The philosophy that was the inspiration for the work known as The Book of Five Rings was originated by Miyamoto Musashi. No infringement on his property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> I make reference to "The Dynamic Duo" Batman and Robin, and the "Wonder Twins" both of which are identifying phrases from the 1970's cartoon series entitled "Superfriends". All characters belong to DC Comics, which is owned by Time-Warner Inc. No infringement is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> Transformers are the property of Hasbro Incorporated under the license of Takara/Tomy Ltd. of Japan. No infringement on either company's trademarked characters or names should not be implied or inferred.
> 
> Star Wars, and the species name of Wookie, were both created by George Lucas, and is the property of Twentieth Century Fox Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The brand name "Chevrolet" and vehicle name "Corvette" are both registered trademarks of the General Motors Corporation, Chevrolet Motor Division. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> The name of this chapter comes from the song "Kung Fu Fighting", which was written and performed by Carl Douglas. No infringement on his property is implied, nor should be inferred.


	2. Hillwood City PTA

The twins' mother walked out of the Hillwood Clinic building to the sidewalk, hefted a large, heavy briefcase into the passenger seat of the car parked at the crowded curb as she balanced a cellular phone between her crooked neck, and straining shoulder to speak to her friend and colleague.

"Oh, thank you so much, Liz! I am so sorry that things have turned out the way that they have today! I'll see what's going on at school, and try to get back here as soon as I can."

Benevolently, Dr. Bliss replied as she cut her friend's apologies off, "Don't worry about getting back to the office at all! I have everything on this end handled; so the only thing that you need to concentrate on is taking care of today are your own kids."

The mother said hopefully, still trying to salvage the workday, "I'll see what is going on first, then I'll call you and come in if I can, how does that sound?"

"No," Dr. Bliss replied generously, "I have everything covered. Your first appointment was a consultation, and I have already had Denise re-schedule that one for this coming Monday. The rest of your appointments today are thirty minutes apiece." With a stress free tone, Elizabeth expounded lightly, "It's the weekend, we have fewer patients today anyway, and I can easily fit my schedule to accommodate the rest of your patients." With her trademark cool, reassuring tone, Elizabeth persuaded, "So, please, go on ahead and take the whole day off so that you can take care of things, because I have it completely covered."

Knowing that Elizabeth was correct, the grateful mother sighed, and grudgingly conceded defeat to her friend, agreeing to her much wiser plan. "Okay, years of experience have taught me better than to argue with you, Doctor. Thanks, Liz!"

Doctor Bliss joked, "I can't believe you let me win that one so easily!"

The mother playfully whispered in response, "Well, just don't tell anyone, especially you know who, okay?"

Elizabeth promised, "I can't do it through the phone, but I pinky swear, Lincoln, Lincoln, Harbor Street."

Despite the hustle she was engaged in to get home, the two old friends indulged in a few moments of laughter before ending their conversation. Even though she was worried, and the situation was still an unwanted mystery to solve, she really did feel much better than she did before her conversation with Elizabeth.

After making sure her cellular phone was off, the hurried woman scurried around to the driver's side of her sleek red car when traffic had died down enough to do so, dove into the driver's seat, and slammed the door shut before another vehicle raced down the street.

She could have possibly gotten into the car from the passenger side, but the car was low to the curb, and there was also the issue of a T-frame that held the tops in place, as well as the shift knob to negotiate.

It would have been near impossible to do while wearing pants, much less the skirt and heels she was encumbered by now. Even though the artful woman mused that it could have been done, she might as well have resigned herself to having a bruise somewhere tender on her person, and she was not a resigning mood now.

Settling into the oyster white, sun warmed seat, she then removed her right high heel shoe and fished around in the middle rear deck console for a tattered, hole covered sneaker kept hidden inside of it to put on so she could depress the gas and brake pedals safely.

Better women could drive in Aigner, but she was not one of them.

Putting on a seat belt, she pressed a black lever on the left hand side of the steering column behind the turn signal indicator to lower the steering wheel so that she could drive the car comfortably.

After placing a well-worn key into the ignition, she cranked the engine, and thankfully, it was still warm from the morning's drive, so to her surprise the machine turned over without any multiple stabs with her foot into the accelerator, urgent pleading, or a candlelit vigil complete with animal sacrifice, augmented with the foulest of profanities.

Soon the dual cat back exhaust filled her ears with a low satisfying rumble, vibrating the car like the purr of a well-fed panther. As per ritual, she raced the engine twice while gripping the wooden, metal topped shift stick, pulling it past park, next reverse, then neutral, and finally into three to pull out onto the road.

Any other time she would have greatly enjoyed her trip home in the beautiful, shining, blazingly torch red 1978 silver anniversary Chevrolet Corvette, but not so much so now. Yet, despite the unfortunate happenings of the day, the woman couldn't help but feel a warm familiar tug at her heart and exhilaration as she drove the beautiful car.

The first expensive thing that she had ever owned, she bought it for herself as a special treat when she earned her bachelor's degree a full two years early with some of the money she had earned from endorsement deals after her second Olympic competition.

She was sure that her father had spun in his grave when she bought it though, because it flew completely against the advice that her deceased father, who was a Ford man, had given her long ago. Despite his admonishments that he would rather push a Ford than drive a Chevrolet, she could truthfully say that she loved the sexy little sports car from the moment when she saw it the first time in the used car lot, to that moment right then.

Sometimes, however, when there were expensive repairs that needed performing on the car that she or her husband could not do on their own, the love waned a little bit.

Thinking to herself, the reminiscent woman thought that if one truly wanted to know what it was to both love and hate something all at the same time, aside from getting married, all one had to do was buy a Corvette and allow the expensive mayhem unfold by its own design.

However, that day was a good one, and the brightness of freshly polished, then waxed car reflected every object it passed on the road like a clear mirror. The T-tops were off, and she enjoyed the hot sun on her shoulders, accompanied by the warm air flowing over her face.

Usually when she drove, she liked to have her hair in a ponytail, but today, she was grateful she was wearing her hair in a bun, because if she weren't, her locks would be everywhere, and her hair would look terrible for the unfortunate meeting at school.

Glancing upwards at the warm autumn sky, sadly, it wouldn't be long until she wouldn't be able to enjoy drives like this by herself, with her husband, or either of the kids. Soon the gorgeous red roadster would be in storage for the winter months, only driven on the rare warm days.

Soon she spied a patch of yellow, red, orange, and brown autumn leaves that littered the road in front of her. Not being able to resist the eternal teenager that resided in her heart, the mischievous woman gunned the car to plow through the thin covering of dead foliage, just a tad faster than the posted speed limit of thirty-five miles per hour.

As a result, the air blown away from the low set vehicle made the leaves fly away from the car and swirl in the air like ocean water in the wake of a ship. As she watched them float gently, back down to the ground in the rear view mirror, exhilarated, she could not help but smile in enjoyment of her guilty pleasure.

Soon the car rounded the curb of 4040 Vine Street.

When she pulled around the back of the house, the woman pressed the button of a slender garage door opener she kept stored in the unused ashtray to back her car into the old garage. It had been built onto so that her own classic car could be accommodated next to the family heirloom classic, as well as the everyday car that she wished were there to drive.

Fishing around in her purse, she eventually found the old and quite worn original set of keys to the green car that sat beside the sleek red sports car.

Gathering from the kind of trouble that her children sounded like they were in, she would need something other than a sporty coupe to drive to school, because "The Wonder Twins" were most likely going to be coming home.

She wished the communal "family car" were there, but her husband had the four-door compact in the airport parking lot waiting for him to drive back home that evening, and the old gigantic green Packard was the only car that could hold she and her two children legally.

Unlocking the beloved green sedan to get it, she then sat on the worn mohair bench seat that sent an unwanted flurry of lint into the air. After waving her hand in front of face to get rid of the dust that danced in the scant rays of sunlight, she placed the key into the ignition to unlock it, and then pressed the button located under the accelerator pedal that cranked the motor, praying that the struggling engine would turn over.

It had been quite awhile since the old vehicle had been driven, so it refused to start immediately, but true to the tough work ethic of the generation that designed it, the stalwart Packard labored hard, sounding like an old man trying to catch a breath while coughing underwater.

After several chokes, each one weaker than the last, she had almost given up any hopes of the sleeping car coming out of its overlong coma, and entertained the idea of calling a cab.

With one last, hard push of the ignition button, and a prayer to whatever deity that was listening to please give her a break, to her surprise the aged straight eight engine finally turned over to start running with a thick cloud of blue smoke; and a stroke of something she was tempted to call luck.

With relief, she mused that at least the car hadn't completely lived up to the playful nickname that was stamped on the rusty vanity tag bolted onto the front bumper, and she didn't have to try to push start the car by herself. Rather foolishly, she had attempted to do that very thing by herself once, and had nearly gotten herself killed with the effort.

Depressing the clutch, she simultaneously grabbed the pristine, legendarily original mother of pearl pistol grip shift knob and pulled downwards. Unfortunately, it had been ages since she had driven stick; and as a result, was woefully out of practice.

Because of regularly choosing either functionality or style over substance, when she tried to put the car in gear, she failed to do so correctly, and the gears ground together creating a sound that closely resembled the former owner objecting rather loudly.

The woman's eyes shifted upwards as she blushed in embarrassment, even though no one was ear witness to her mistake.

When alive, Arnold's grandfather loved that old car more than a lot of people that he knew.

Understanding that sentiment as a car enthusiast herself, she felt somewhat obligated to croak through her abashedly clenched teeth, "Sorry, Phil." as she put the car into the correct gear and backed out of the garage.

* * *

Spoiled by power steering, and not used to utilizing a clutch, especially one built in the early half of the last century, the woman felt calf and chest muscles that she seldom used in that fashion burn like fire as she drove to Hillwood High School.

Due to the conversation that woefully lacked in details, the worried mother had little idea what was waiting for her, therefore was at a loss as the best way to handle it.

She didn't like surprises, and felt as if she were going into the unknown extremely unprepared, but the confident woman reasoned that she could handle whatever situation she was racing blindly to tend to. It sounded serious enough, that much was certain, and for her own sake, as well as that of the children, she hoped that she had enough control to not get angry at her capricious offspring as she pulled into the overflowing parking lot of the high school.

One inconvenience after another haunting her, she wondered where she was going to park an unwieldy car that might as well have been the size of a tank, but with some looking, she found that fate had granted her yet another boon. Spying two empty spaces together to straddle the gigantic machine between, for some reason the Packard reminded her of the big green brontosaurus pictured on the sign hanging outside the antiquated filling station that was still running on the edge of town.

Steering for the two free spaces, feeling guilty for needing them, she saw a familiar car pulling into one of the two free spots she had her eyes on. If she didn't know him, she might have been tempted to curse at him, but skillfully, she wrangled the oversized vehicle into the tiny parking space beside the car that had just pulled in.

She looked to her side as the occupant of the other car glanced back, and when she got out of the shiny green Packard, the woman walked over to the man getting out of the German sports car with her arms outstretched, and the two old friends embraced in greeting. "Oh, Thad, how are you?" The woman broke the hug, took the man's hands at arms length, and gave him an empathetic look. "You're looking a little tired."

"Nah, I'm alright." Used to it, the man glossed over his obvious look of exhaustion, and jokingly called the woman the nickname that everyone closest to, addressed her by, "How are you today, Shortman?" A loaded question, he wondered, "Here on business?"

She took a breath through her nose and exhaled sharply through her teeth with a halfhearted attempt at a smile. "I'm afraid so, unfortunately, it seems my kids got into some sort of a fight today." Thad looked at his friend knowingly as she continued, "I don't know all the details yet," The woman said with a warning tone, as Thad looked to the side, not really knowing how to break the surprising news that he already knew the details of why she there. "But, they had better have either a good excuse or an interesting lie when I get in there!" With her curiosity piqued, and finding it highly coincidental that he would be there at the same time she was, the kind woman wondered jokingly, "Why are you here, Your Honor, The Mayor of Hillwood City?"

Thad gave her half an explanation. "Well, I'm here to pick Courtney up, and take her home."

The woman asked with true concern for the young girl's welfare, "She's not sick is she?"

He replied in toned down anger, "No, but some of the football team was teasing her in between classes, and it escalated into something much more serious." Thad's anger was highly evident when he recounted what had happened to his blameless daughter. "One the boys tripped her, and made her fall down," The man sighed forcefully, obviously in the attempt to keep his anger at bay. "During which, she broke her glasses, and got a nosebleed. Sheena called me to come get her because of the state she was in."

The shocked woman gasped, "Oh, no! Why in the world would they do something like that?"

Thad shook his head and could no longer mask the anger he felt. "I don't know why, but it doesn't matter. I know kids were teasing her last year," The concerned woman nodded with a blush, and began to wonder as she pieced together evidence in the back of her mind as the man continued, "But it turning physical against Courtney is the last straw!"

Thad flung his hand to the side, "Courtney wouldn't like it at all, but so help me I'll take her out of this sorry excuse for a school, and put her in Peavine Academy if I have to!" He nodded with determination, and pointed towards the school, "While I'm at it, I'll do everything I damn well can to get Byron Cashwell's job taken away from him too!" He scoffed, "He isn't fit to look after a dog house, much less a school!"

"He does suck." The woman was inclined to agree as she put her hand on Thad's shoulder and tried to comfort him. "Did you make any headway with Courtney about going to see my friend?" She tilted her head sideways with empathy, "I can't treat her because of our relationship, but Dr. Bliss would love to help Courtney if she would allow her to." The grateful woman said with great respect, and fondness for her esteemed colleague, "Elizabeth helped me so much when I was a kid, saved me actually, and I know that she could really help your daughter too."

Thad shook his head. "No, I didn't say anything, and I was fearful of bringing up the issue." The hopeful father reasoned, "'Court's not acting out violently, she's not doing anything self destructive, and her grades aren't slipping."

"But?" The caring woman asked as Thad hesitated, encouraging him with a look to continue, then the helpless feeling father expounded with sadness, "It just seems that Courtney doesn't feel anything anymore, like she's turned off all of her emotions. I wouldn't mind her even blowing up and getting angry if she'd just express something." With a frown, Thad admitted to what in his heart he felt was his greatest failure as a parent, "I've lost touch with her."

The woman nodded and consoled while placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, "You've not lost touch with Courtney at all, Thad, if you didn't know she was hurting, you wouldn't be here talking to me about this now. You're just trying to do what you think is best for her." With a fond smile for her friend as he looked downwards, even though he didn't see it, she truthfully said, "Just like always."

Thad's head shot up in surprise when she added, "You're absolutely correct in not forcing Courtney to go in for consultation too, because it would most likely make her withdraw even more."

Thaddeus nodded thanks for her generous appraisal of his parental abilities, as his friend theorized, "I think Courtney will ask for help when she's ready for, and wants it. She's quite a sensible and an extremely intelligent girl, and it perhaps isn't a good idea to mention the possibility of therapy quite yet, as it hasn't really been that long since,"

The woman stopped talking, and as the class change bell rang in the background, she was grateful to be saved by it when she saw Thad wince in pain. Kids were walking outside, and their mingled conversations were barely audible from the parking lot.

Thad looked to his side. "By the way," He said, feeling safe to let the cat out of the bag. "Sheena called me before I got here, and she's asked to talk to the both of us before we go to the office."

With that, the good doctor's attention had been more than grabbed.

Thad wondered what his friend was going to do with the next statement, as he meshed his fingers together dramatically, hoping that it would not be infanticide. "It seems that your kids' and my kid's incidents are interconnected."

The woman ground her teeth together in anger and her eyebrows slanted downwards.

In the back of her mind she knew it all along, damn it, she knew it!

Both she and her husband had told their son more than enough times for it to sink in, exactly how they felt about those confounded football players he had been trying to impress, and make friends with.

She and Arnold knew that they were nothing more than trouble waiting to happen, had hoped that the boy would stay away from them, and obviously, their shared misgivings was vindicated today, unfortunately.

As such, she had no idea what the girl's role in the day's festivities was yet, but they had warned the boy by golly, and he was in big trouble now!

Thad's eyes widened at the angry woman's facial expression and her barely contained fury as she said with great certainty, "I am so sorry about this, and will guarantee you one thing right now, Thad!" The man took a step backwards away from his slightly shaking, but visibly upset friend as she swept an arm to her side demonstratively. "I can't speak for the other parents or control what their kids do!" She said with an angry point towards her friend, "But I can for damn sure tell you right now with absolute certainty Courtney is not going to have to worry about one of the people teasing her anymore, because it is coming to an end as of TODAY!"

The two parents walked into the entrance of the school and the long hallway towards the office, the woman trotting a bit faster, with the apprehensive man following closely behind. There were plenty times that he had seen his best friend mad, especially at him, but in this instance as his friend spoke to herself in nearly foreign tongues like someone possessed by the very soul of evil, Thaddeus Crispin Gammelthorpe was more than secretly glad that she wasn't upset with him this time.

* * *

Sooner than both twins would have liked, they heard the sharp, fast, and frighteningly unmistakable click clack of their mother's heels making their way up the shiny, polished breccia hallway, and braced themselves respectively.

Unable to avoid stating the obvious to save her young life, the braver girl lowly muttered to her apprehensive brother,

"We're in deep shit now, Shortman."

In turn, her brother groaned at both his sister's lack of tact, and the pain that resulted from placing his hand on his forehead in dread.

Courtney, who had escaped the notice of her tormentor for the moment, observed the boy's reaction, and despite the fact that she couldn't stand him, she almost felt sorry for him.

They had known each other their entire lives, back to when they were little kids. Courtney always liked to be around him, the brave caped daredevil of the playground, and she would definitely be lying if she said she hadn't been sweet on him, even then.

When the two of them were alone with each other, or along with his sister, he would treat her nicely, play with her, and they had lots of fun.

However, when he and all of the neighborhood kids played together; the two faced boy ignored, and acted as if he didn't even know her, which really confused Courtney, and hurt her feelings too.

With a sarcastically reminiscent air, Courtney thought those were the golden days of their relationship. When they hit puberty, the stupid boy in front of her singled her out for some reason; and tried to do everything in his power to make her miserable with his endless teasing.

She at first tried to understand why he acted the way in which he did, but now she didn't even care enough to bother.

Why should she?

He was part of the reason why many of the kids in school thought it was open season on her. The boy was extremely popular, hung out with the all the other "popular" kids, and to her sorrow, they emulated him all too eagerly.

The colossal prick had even come up with the nickname that she absolutely loathed that nearly everyone in school felt perfectly comfortable humiliating her with, both to her face and behind her back.

With an internal sigh while looking upwards at the ceiling, Courtney had to think that yes, Miles was handsome. God knew that all the lovesick girls in the halls and classes he was in tore their hair out wanting to be with him, but none of that took away the fact that he was still one of his own sister's most favorite words.

Everyone was just too ignorant to see what he was really like!

Right?

Anyway, if Courtney felt sorry for anyone sitting in the office, it was the girl sitting across from her.

They were in French club together and she was okay.

They weren't close friends or anything like that, and except for a couple of visits to her home that summer, they hardly spoke to one another at all, except to nod an occasional polite hello at meetings.

However, in light of the fact that Hillwood high school's resident tough girl was an integral part of the popular kid inner circle, and that some of her friends had no problem ranking her out, Courtney could honestly say she was unfailingly nice to her, and everyone else in passing.

Certainly more than could be said for her contemptible brother.

Added to that, earlier in the morning after the fight, the kind girl had even handed her what was left of the glasses that Todd Jenkins had stepped on to break purposefully. Even though it was not her place to, the altruistic girl went a step further, and apologized for what had happened to her before the school nurse led her away to tend to her bloody nose.

Actually, it was worth getting yet another broken pair of glasses, tripped, and a bloody nose, just to watch the hateful boy get his. With uncharacteristic venom, Courtney felt that unfortunately his well-meaning sister had to interfere, and ruin what had the makings of a much deserved violent altering of reality for her brother.

The hurt girl blew a heavy breath out of her mouth in frustration, refusing to feel guilty for the mean spirited things she had just thought, and continued to look for things that would keep her from gazing upon the boy across from her.

As the twins looked out the window in trepidation waiting for their mother to appear in it, all three kids saw a streak of white zip past the outside of the door to the office, and they all heard the kind nurse say, "Thad, Doctor, let's talk for a moment, okay?"

The three kids traded surprised looks at each other, then out the window of the office as they heard the footsteps of their parents and the nurse fade away down the hall.

For what seemed to be forever, the two twins stewed in apprehension for their mother to come and face them, dangling on hooks of their own making.

Unknown to them, Thad and their mother stood in an adjacent hallway as the school nurse filled in both parents about the true events that lead up to the fight in the hallway.

Courtney's father stood flabbergasted at what Sheena told them as he looked at his best friend.

Thad would never hurt his best friend's feelings by saying it, but he didn't like her son at all until just then, and felt that perhaps he had been a bit hasty in his rush to judge him.

Thad had to remember that it was true that what he had done in the past in respects to his daughter was wrong, but the young man had certainly treated Courtney right, and shown great courage by coming to her defense that morning. The chivalrous gesture certainly meant a lot to him, and probably his daughter too.

Alternately, the twins' mother, when she heard her son and daughter's role in the row, felt extremely guilty for the un-motherly thoughts she had been nursing before the conversation.

She was embarrassed enough over the kids' actions, and her very own in the distant past, to place her hand over her blue eyes as both Sheena and Thad laughed like maniacs while referring to fruit falling from over laden trees.

Eventually, when her friends were through having a good laugh at her expense, and she was not so irritated with the both of them, the woman sighed and hated to admit that they were right.

She should have known that there was a perfectly good, even justified excuse for behavior like this out of her kids.

True, it wasn't right what her son did, and she certainly suspected some ulterior motive in respect to her headstrong daughter's involvement in the row too, but what either of them did wasn't anything different that what she would have done in the same situation probably.

Overall, both of her children were extremely good kids, and she had never had a moment's serious trouble out of them until this day.

After her daughter's bad breakup over infidelity with Tim Donovan, the worthless boy spread a horribly detailed rumor around school about the saucy nature of their non-existent physical relationship.

She, and her beloved, Mr. Blue Sky himself, Arnold, surprisingly enough wanted to slaughter Tim Donovan, leaving his carcass in the sun for starving turkey buzzards to pick clean.

Even that punishment was not enough to her surprise for making their sweet natured girl cry in Arnold's opinion, and was further shocked when he violently suggested that they flay the skin off of Tim's body, roll him in rock salt, then sew his pelt back onto him backwards while he died screaming in agony.

As far as the angered mother's thoughts on the matter went, even though it was hypocritical for her to think so, she genuinely hoped that her daughter kicked Tim's good for nothing, sorry, lying ass up and down the halls until she was exhausted.

Also, as far as her son's involvement in that day's excitement went, the report from the sweet nurse exonerated him in regards to his behavior towards Courtney.

Even if Sheena's deposition didn't satisfy the questions of the court proceedings in her mind, the achingly terrible love poem she had found written on the back of a receipt for basketball shoes dated a week ago from The Shoe Shack would certainly satisfy the criteria for dismissal of all charges.

The relieved woman shook her head and said with a smile as she faced the nurse. "Thank you, Sheena; you saved me from myself again." The now much better natured joking woman then turned to Thad with a smile and cavalier accent, "Well, C'mon, Thad, and let's go drop the other boot." Wryly she added, "I know the kids are bound to be crappin' bricks by now."

Sheena laughed while Thad made a request of his best friend, "Hey, Helga?"

The lovely blonde turned her head as she walked to look at him with an eyebrow cocked upwards, and answered with a closed lipped, "Hmmm?"

His face cracked a grin. "Try to take it easy on 'em, okay?"

Helga smirked and playfully pushed the man as they approached the office door, then placed her hand over her heart to swear jokingly, "I promise that I'll try to, Curly."

Sheena giggled as she patted both her friends on their shoulders, then walked down the hallway back to her office to continue her day's work, glad that she had been able to do some damage control for the twins.

Sensing a grave disturbance in the force, the twin girl looked up and out the office window, and finally, the moment of dread that she and her brother had been waiting for had arrived when their mother's eyes met hers.

After some guarded scrutiny however, strangely she discovered that her mother didn't look completely furious with them. The observant girl didn't delude herself though, simply because mom didn't have flames or burning laser beams shooting out of her eyes, she obviously wasn't too pleased about being there either.

Having the good sense to try to look at least a little ashamed, just for show, the girl nudged her downtrodden looking brother with her elbow while still studying their mother. The boy, who had been staring at the floor hopelessly, looked up and out the window in fear, and oddly enough, partial relief as the wait for his mom to get there had been hell.

All of Helga's irritation and somewhat quelled anger at her children was forgotten for a moment as her eyes widened, her jaw dropped, and motherly instinct took over completely when she saw the severely swollen, slightly bloodied face of her only son.

The frightened mother threw open the office door, rushed inside, knelt, and gently placed her hands upon his cheeks. Helga's eyebrows were turned downwards, and her teeth were clenched tightly together in sympathetic suffering as she searched his face, finally saying with painful urgency, "My God, Miles!"

Helga gently stroked the boy's unruly blonde hair away from the cut on his forehead, and her worried gaze darted over his blackening eye, and then split lip. Upon more investigation, she noticed the still obvious finger marks on his neck as she lightly traced them with her slender fingers, and questioned with worry, "What did they do to you?"

Then the distracted mother's attention turned to her daughter. Not relinquishing physical contact with her boy, but asking with the same concern as she brushed her free hand over her girl's cheek gently, "Gertie, are you okay?"

Gertrude held up her right hand curled into a tight fist with a perverted grin, " 'Ol Betsy's just fine," The girl then raised her puffed left hand with the fingers slightly bent, "But the Five Avengers are a little dinged up."

Helga exhaled harshly through her nose at her daughter's shameless, wholly self-satisfied facial expression, then she turned, and cut her blue eyes menacingly at Thad's mischievous deep throated chuckle as his hand covered his mouth.

The woman turned back to her girl and muttered in exasperation, "I never should have told you that."

Helga extended her right hand and gently took Gertrude's swollen, slowly bluing left hand into hers to examine. With an innocent shift of the girl's lap, the bag of mostly melted ice sitting on it fell down, gently coming undone as it hit the floor, spilling its watery contents.

"You did that on purpose!" The receptionist shrieked as both Helga and her girl jumped at the woman's screeching voice, then the rude woman turned to hatefully glare at Miles, barking an order with a point, "You, go get some towels right now and both of you clean that up at once!"

With shocked anger, Helga turned towards the receptionist, trying to think of a suitable response that would not make her a hypocrite in front of her children.

Thad, who had been inspecting his daughter's own injuries, glanced upwards at Helga, wondering if she would invite the receptionist to kiss her ass, and go straight to hell right now, or wait until later.

Before the irritated mother could say anything to the mean secretary, Mr. Cashwell, the pompous principal walked into the room, and announced in the haughty, authoritative air that most everyone she knew both mocked and reviled, "Mrs. Shortman, would you and your children come into my office?"

Rightfully preoccupied, Helga replied, "In a minute."

The principal backed up with the casual dismissal of his presence, and his eyebrows turned downwards with disapproval.

Helga rose and walked over to Courtney smiling, but ignoring Dr. Shortman completely, the girl faced her father and asked flatly, "Can't I just go back to class?" With frustration decorating her voice, she ended, "I didn't even want you to come and get me, the nurse called you."

Thad took his daughter's hand, and quietly said as he brushed her hair back and examined her face again, "I think you should come home so we can tend to your nose, and,"

Irritated, Courtney interrupted arguing flatly, "It's not that bad, I can stay here."

With a smile while gently rubbing her back, Thad tried to convince his daughter to come home with reason, "Please, Princess, your glasses are broken, you can't see without them, and you don't have any spares either here or at home."

"Fine." The girl simply replied with no emotion, even though her father's designation of affection for her in public, much less in front of all people, Miles Shortman, disgusted her.

Courtney's father stooped to pick up her heavy book bag, but the girl was quicker, and snatched it up before he could, turning to walk out of office swiftly, giving no one present any eye contact whatsoever.

Thad cast Helga a look, she returned it, and was going to go outside to give the hurting girl a smile, a hug, then slip her a card with Dr. Bliss' office telephone number on it, but the principal walked over to the parents to speak to them, and neither one of them could get away.

While the adults were occupied, Gertrude watched her brother, who was alternately watching Courtney pace in the hallway, not unlike a wild animal caught in a cage.

The girl sighed and decided to go out on a limb.

Placing a gentle hand on her brother's shoulder, then Gertie whispered in a low, gentle voice with encouraging, even sympathetic eyes, "Look, at least go and say something to her." Miles gave his sister a look of surprise, but before he could question how she knew of his love for the girl; his lovingly tactful sister confessed, "It's pretty obvious, Shithead."

Miles' face turned red as a stoplight, but before he had a chance to make a denial, a threat for Gertie to keep his secret to herself, or get angry over her newest, and most offensive pet name for him yet; the hopeful girl said, "Just go." She quietly encouraged, with a head nod forward and a gentle pushing hand on his shoulder. "This morning had to have helped."

Not wanting to argue with Gertie's logic for hope's sake, Miles sighed, ran his hand through his wild hair, batted his sister's tweezing fingers away from the cut that toilet paper was stuck in a last time, and exited the office. Watching with hope as Courtney froze in her tracks, and Miles approached, Gertie silently rooted for her brother's success.

The boy plucked up his courage, cleared his throat, and moved cautiously closer towards the nervous looking girl, and when he was near enough, the caring boy gently took her hand in an effort to comfort her. Miles then said shyly, "I'm sorry that," The boy stuttered, looking at the girl and the floor alternately, "T-that they did that to you this morning, Courtney, they didn't have a right to, and I'm sorry."

Courtney's eyes darkened as she ripped her hand out of Miles', and Gertrude helplessly watched in shock with her face plastered to the office window as the romantic idea meant to bring two lost souls together backfired like a dirty dump truck, badly in need of a tune-up.

"Just who do you think you are?" Courtney asked with irritation as she scoffed, "What? That you're any better than your friends?" The justified girl growled with absolute certainty, "No! In fact, you're worse than they are! At least I know where I stand with them!" Courtney looked Miles up and down in complete disgust, and announced with a scowl, "Don't try to be buddy buddy with me just to get yourself out of trouble!"

Miles tried to explain, "No, Courtney, please, I,"

With her mind clouded by both the past, as well as anger over the happenings of the morning, Courtney wouldn't allow Miles any explanation of himself, and the agitated girl said with rising ire, "I haven't ever done anything to you to deserve everything you've ever done to me!"

Miles winced at the terrible truth of everything that the girl he loved had to say about him, his pre-existing shame growing even stronger by the moment. "I know, but,"

Courtney cut him off, "You've acted nice sometimes, but most of the time, you just treat me like shit!" Miles eyes widened in shock at the profanity he had no idea Courtney knew as she flung her arms and hands upwards, "I wish you'd decide on one and stick with it!"

The fuming girl expounded with a strained voice, "You've made my life hell for absolutely no reason at all, and it's not fair!" Pointing to her side, the girl got angrier while expounding, "You're the reason why those worthless bastards you hang out with, and everyone else calls me 'Gammeldork', and all the other names everyday!"

Miles could do nothing more than look down at the floor with embarrassment as the girl panted with her teeth ground together, and tears of anger filled her eyes.

"Courtney," He said with a voice full of love hidden by hurt, "I just, I-I didn't mean to," The boy tried to explain, but couldn't to save his life. He had his arms partially raised in apology, but the misguided girl didn't pay any attention to his body language, or the heartfelt quality of his voice.

"You didn't mean to? Oh, God!" The doubtful girl said in mocking anger and disgust as she began to lose more control of herself, intently looking upwards, desperately trying to not cry as she did that morning in front of everyone, and embarrass herself again. Anguished, Courtney declared with a breaking voice, "That's a good one!"

Miles apologized with an emotional, thoroughly honest cracking voice, "I-I'm so sorry, Courtney, I really am. Please!"

The scoffing girl looked at Miles in surprise and asked, "You're sorry?" The boy nodded vigorously, hoping that the complicated girl knew how he really felt about her.

Couldn't she tell?

Miles backed away with his eyes widening in surprise as the usually reserved, levelheaded honor student Courtney Gammelthorpe became rigid, and balled her fists.

Stepping closer to the foolish boy, Courtney's resolve weakened, and she allowed four months of bottled rage and bitter grief vomit out of her un-checked, bellowing as she exploded, "Well, fuck you, and fuck your goddamn apology too, Asshole!"

The sorrow filled girl violently flung her book bag at Miles with a strength fueled by her fury at him, and the agile boy was barely able to dodge the flying black projectile. When the bag landed, it purged its literary contents onto the floor behind him, and as papers floated through the air, Courtney's books skied across the slick polished floor, some stopping only when they hit a brick wall.

Helga, Thad, and the principal rushed out into the hall at hearing the outburst, as did an entire study hall held in the adjacent library as well, with all the kids spilling out of the room in force to watch the spectacle unfold.

Lots of students in the school had speculated on how long it would take for "Crazy Courtney" to lose her mind, and no one wanted to miss it.

The girl screamed in wrath as the boy backed further away from her with his eyes lit in genuine fear, "I don't even know why God lets you live!" The enraged girl slammed her fists down on the Miles' chest as hard as she could, and while tears streamed down her face, two trickles of bright red blood began to run down from her nose and her upper lip, dripping down to her chin. With a hateful hiss, the faithless girl yelled venomously, mere inches away from the boy's face, "I guess because there really isn't one!"

Helga instinctively moved towards Miles to protect him, but Thad got to his furious girl first, sandwiching himself between his daughter and the boy to keep her from striking him again. Even though he was extremely strong, it was difficult for Thad to contain Courtney in her nearly frenzied state because he didn't want to hurt her.

From over Thad's shoulder, Courtney screamed with no regard of who heard, Miles' last and nickname sarcastically as she tried in vain to reach him with another strike. "Go straight to hell where you belong, Shortman!"

The deft girl would have succeeded in punching Miles too, if it were not for her father's pushing body, and his hand blocking her attempts.

Unable to get her fists near the boy again, the girl gave up her attempts at physical assault, settling for another loud, loving public announcement of her feelings towards the regretful boy. In her unthinking rage, Courtney screamed while shaking her balled fist at Miles with wild looking eyes, "I hate you, Miles Shortman! I hate you, and I wish you were dead!" Roaring, she punctuated the word again, "DEAD!"

Despite her concern for Miles, Helga's heart went out to the devastated girl too. Even though her behavior was somewhat distressing, what with the trials the girl had faced as of late, one could hardly blame Courtney for her hopefully temporary lack of restraint.

Her always prepared for any contingency mother asked her the favor of looking out for, and helping both Thad and Courtney if they needed it. Being the dutiful friend that she had always been, Helga gave her word to her friend that she would if she could, but by the way things looked, and as Courtney became more deranged by the moment, she was hard pressed to think of anything that would help.

The worried mother then took a quick glance at her son, and she instantly felt pity for him too, even though he had foolishly contributed greatly to his own predicament. Miles was pale; he was clutching the section of shirt over his heart, as if the sharp words of the angry girl had impaled him straight through the heart, leaving him to bleed to death.

Thad grabbed hold of both his daughter's shoulders and began to shake her. "Courtney! Stop this at once!" He commanded as his squinted eyes cut into her tear filled ones.

The furious girl immediately threw off her father's grip almost losing balance and falling down backwards, only then did the man then notice her bloody nose. "You're bleeding, 'Court!" Her father tried to wipe away the blood with a tissue he hurriedly produced from his pocket, but the girl wouldn't allow him to.

"Don't touch me!" The girl said darkly, as she pushed his hand away, and then went off on a tangent. "You should have been there!" Thad's heart pounded as the girl began to tear into him, and then he felt it plummet when he heard her confess the resentment she felt for him, that he had no clue about until that moment.

Courtney screamed shrilly, "But no! You were gone! You didn't even know she had," The heartbroken girl paused, unable to say the hateful word that clung to her mind like blinding black tar, "Left until the next morning!"

The girl choked with sobs as Thad tried to hold her, she pushed him away and said in a more quiet voice, "You should have been there, but you weren't! You weren't." The girl's tears fell down onto her cheeks and more droplets of blood stained her shirt.

"Courtney, Sweetheart, please calm down." The loving father plead gently, trying to help his girl.

Courtney spat hatefully, "All you give a damn about is running around," Thad looked at his daughter in horror as she thankfully caught herself, and then pondered the magnitude of what she almost said in shame.

She nearly broke the first, most important promise she made to her mother.

It was only then did she observe what looked like the entire student body of Hillwood High School staring at her in shock.

The principal stormed over to the girl, pointing his fat, stubby finger in her face. "You get into the office immediately, young lady! How dare you cause such a disruption?"

Courtney, finding a reserve of contempt to mingle with her anger, turned to the overbearing man to glare into his eyes with her dilated ones. With a frightening switch from imbalanced, to calm that was unnerving, the panting girl made a physically improbable suggestion to Mr. Cashwell.

It was something so breathtakingly filthy, disgusting, and abhorrent, it left all who heard it to draw individual conclusions about its realistic feasibility.

All the kids in the hall, including Gertie Shortman, laughed at the insane foulness that rolled out of Courtney's mouth like sizzling hot sewage from a manhole, and soon a round of loud applause followed shortly after, much to the chagrin of the red-faced principal.

The girl's father screamed with shock at what had come out what he thought until then, was his innocent daughter's mouth, "COURTNEY BROOKLEY GAMMELTHORPE!"

Running his hand through his hair in disbelief, and the imagery of her request, Thad struggled to think of a suitable reprimand, but only stumbled upon the rather impotent word, "Language!"

Helga studied the mentally compromised young woman for a moment, wondering if any part of what she said were even physically possible, and then she glanced at her guffawing daughter. Sensing the attention, Gertrude caught her mother's disapproving glare, and quit laughing immediately, but desperately tried to hide a smile when Helga looked away.

Then the worried woman looked at her son, and to her relief, he at least had sense enough not to laugh, instead, his saddened face was red, and he didn't even notice her looking at him. Converse to his sister, Miles seemed to be in a world of his own, studying droplets of Courtney's blood on his shirt with his face bearing the unmistakable look of sorrowful regret.

Helga could certainly empathize with her poor boy that much was for sure, for she had been there and done that more times than she cared to count.

Before Courtney, her stricken father, or the hateful principal could say anything else the swift athlete turned and ran away from everyone in the hall at breakneck speed. Before Thad could even think about chasing after her, his distraught daughter was out the front entrance, bounding down the concrete steps, and soon, completely out of sight.

The overbearing principal stormed towards Thad, and said in a condescending voice, "Mr. Gammelthorpe, you need to bring your daughter back here immediately! She has broken numerous school rules today and needs to be,"

The upset father could only assume that the last word in the principal's sentence was "punished", but Thad interrupted the overbearing man with a mere look of his steely grey green eyes, daring him to say one more word.

Thad knew that the way Courtney had acted wasn't right, and she would need to make amends, but the thoughts of that ignorant bastard punishing his little girl in any manner at all flew over him the wrong way.

Studying Thad carefully, especially noting the towering man's black eyes, powerful muscular body, and then the intimidating, scarred face that was scowling at him in anger, principal Cashwell suddenly found it in his best interests to quiet immediately.

Without uttering a word to anyone present, the worried father collected his daughter's books to place back into the large book bag that she had thrown, and when finished, he walked down the hallway to the exit.

Embarrassed, principal Cashwell glared at all the murmuring, snickering students in the hallway, and for the moment satisfied his bruised ego by taking out his anger on them. "Go back to class this instant, or all of you will be sitting in detention for a week!"

Knowing his spiteful threat was not a bluff, the fearful students quickly dispersed; leaving Helga, her children, and the humiliated principal alone in the hallway as Thad calmly exited the front doors of the school.

The pre-occupied mother turned to her incorrigible daughter and regretful son. "Please go in the office and wait for me, I'll be back in a moment, okay?" As her children obeyed, Helga rushed off to her friend's side, with the short, fat principal eying her svelte body as she walked away.

The twins sat down in the office once again as the principal entered, then approached them, and then the pompous man pointed at the kids with his condescending finger, declaring in a threatening tone, "You're both in big trouble now."

With that, the kids, despite the fact that their mother was there, couldn't help but get a worried look on their faces as the receptionist gave the balding principal a familiar glance, then Miles and Gertie a hag-like scowl as Cashwell walked back to his office.

Outside, Helga yelled running, "Thad! Thad, wait up!" Finally she caught up with him as he was about to get into his car.

He turned; Helga wrapped her comforting arms around her friend, and patted his back reassuringly as he hugged back. "It's okay, Thad, everything is going to be alright."

The hurting father broke the loving hug, took his kind friend's hand, and studied the warm black, white lined asphalt as he spoke, "I'm going to go get her, I know where she's headed."

Helga sadly nodded. "She's been going there a lot, hasn't she?"

He shook his head and replied with hope, and a tinge of what Helga would be tempted to call denial, "She just needs to cool off a little bit before I go and try to talk to her."

"Are you okay?" Helga asked kindly as Thad contemplated what he was going to say to his troubled girl.

"Yeah," The man turned to leave, but turned to face his friend once again with a half chuckle, "I shouldn't have said anything about wanting her to blow up earlier, though."

She tried not to let it, but a smile cracked Helga's lips as she shook her head, and offered sincerely, "If you need anything, Thad, you know where we are."

The grateful man nodded and then kissed Helga's cheek. "I know, thanks, Shortman." Then he got into his car to leave.

As she watched the tiny race customized red, white, and blue Porsche 935 with Autobot decals plastered all over it pull out of the school parking lot and drive away, Helga sighed heavily. "Boys and their toys." She did have to admit that the personalized license plate that read, JAZZ was a nice touch though.

With trepidation the woman turned, and walked back inside the school to take care of her own kids' little dilemma.

* * *

Walking into the waiting area of the bright office, Helga motioned for her children to rise, and the impatiently waiting Principal escorted them towards his office. As Helga walked past the receptionist, she glanced at her shortly, disliking her intensely for numerous reasons aside from the extremely good one she had already given her a few minutes ago.

As Helga entered Mr. Cashwell's office, and he closed the door, it seemed as if she had stepped into a desperate need to employ intimidation to assert his dominance.

His desk was on a platform, which was higher than the floor, so that when he sat in his chair, he was a bit higher than his guests were. The arrogant man's many credentials dotted the wall, and there were only pictures of him on it and the desk as well. It didn't surprise Helga in the slightest that no pictures of his family were present. 

In fact, the only colorful thing that was in the room was a dish of candies that the man rudely took a piece from; offering neither her children or she any.

"Mrs. Shortman." The man's voice boomed at her as if he were giving a lecture to her after being naughty, instead of her kids. "You are aware of the seriousness of your children's actions today, are you not? Do you know how many rules they have broken?"

Helga nodded, and answered fairly, "Yes, I do understand the wrongfulness of Miles' and Gertie's behavior this morning." Adding with deference, in the hopes that if she stroked his ego a bit, the principal would deign lenience, Helga ended, "But there are extenuating circumstances concerning the incident however, Sir."

"Well then, let's get the truth of this matter then, shall we?" He was being friendly enough, so contrary to rumor, Helga thought that perhaps her kids might get a fair chance from the principal after all as Cashwell smiled, and spoke to the boy first. "Miles, did you strike James Barber this morning?"

The regretful boy was still ruminating over Courtney's words in his head as he looked over at his mother, and as Helga nodded to her apprehensive looking son, she took his hand to reassure him.

Knowing that it was a futile effort to try to defend himself, Miles still set out to do the right thing by telling the truth, "Yes, Sir, I did hit James." Truly penitent, Miles added, "I'm sorry that I did, and I know that there were other ways for me to deal with what happened than the way I decided to." Owning up to his wrongfulness, but wanting to explain himself better, Miles added, "I definitely shouldn't have started a fight like that, but after the way that they hurt Courtney, and what James said to her, I just got angry, lost it, and,"

The principal held up his hand and declared curtly, "That will do, Son." In a condescending tone, he finished, "No one just loses it."

With that, Helga's eyes narrowed, but for the moment, she decided to hold her tongue. True, Miles shouldn't have acted the way he did, in part, but Helga didn't like her son's explanation just being cut off like that at all. The way things seemed to be shaping up, Helga figured that she shouldn't have taken a page from her husband's book and been optimistic about the meeting after all.

Without noticing Helga's facial expression, or well pretending he didn't, Cashwell turned to Mrs. Shortman's daughter. "Gertrude?" The unapologetic girl looked up at the man, and Helga prayed that her girl didn't say anything smartassy, or offensive. "Did you strike, Mr. Jenkins, Mr. Donovan, and Mr. Barber this morning?"

Gertie was tempted to dick around with the principal, and had it on her mind to counter with one of her famous, evil sounding chortles and the response, 'assloads of times.' However, after taking a quick glance at her mom, the wise young woman decided to take her unspoken hint, and try to treat the situation with at least a modicum of the decorum that her mother insinuated the situation deserved with her penetrating stare.

That being said however, Gertie had already made up her mind that she wasn't going to kiss Cashwell's ugly ass either, but she figured that she should at least try to be respectful, so she answered with well-feigned deference, "I had to, Sir."

The Principal's teeth ground together behind his lips, prying them apart only to speak in a haughty tone, "Now tell me why that is, Miss Shortman?" Benevolently lecturing, finding himself more intelligent than he really was, Mr. Cashwell added, "No one has the right to strike another person, no matter what the motivation is."

The girl looked the principal straight in the eyes as she stood leaning slightly forward to look at him eye level, and Helga's in turn widened with worry, because she knew Gertie, and Gertie's mouth.

Only God almighty knew what was going to pop out of it, because her daughter's response could be either intelligent, foul, or a decadent orgy of both.

Gertie stated politely, "Since, it's obvious that both the truth and rules have no interest in the mitigating circumstances of today's events, which can find their origins in the violent physical actions of the other party towards the true victim of the day, Courtney Gammelthorpe, I must cede that my brother Miles certainly should not have hit James Barber."

The domineering man smiled at Gertie sardonically, but quickly frowned when the young, aspiring lawyer continued her well-founded argument. "I was correct in my actions in the hallway this morning despite the rules, however. If I hadn't gotten involved in the altercation, Sir, Mr. Barber along with the latter two gentlemen, Mr. Jenkins, and Mr. Donovan, whom my brother did not touch at all, would have hurt him badly. Miles only hit James Barber once before the other two boys joined in to outnumber him three to one, ending with all of them striking my brother violently about the face and head repeatedly."

The girl had a genuine tone to her voice as she held her palms upwards and her shoulders in a shrug as she continued to explain her own actions. "I have no reason to lie to you, Mr. Cashwell, and I can tell you truthfully that all three of them were trying to hurt Miles seriously." Outraged, Gertie observed, "Tim alone could have accidentally killed Miles when he choked him."

Gertrude took a breath, sat down beside Miles, and continued while holding a hand towards him to demonstrate his swollen face. "I couldn't let Miles get hurt worse than he already is, Mr. Cashwell, and surely even you wouldn't just stand back and allow someone that you love get beaten up in an unfair fight simply because of the rules would you?"

Helga looked at Gertie with pride in her well-spoken girl, and Miles did as well, with even more respect and love for his sister.

The man stood up taller than the blonde girl and looked down at her and the boy with disgust. "So," The smirking man said, "You both fully admit your roles in the fight?"

Helga looked at her kids, urging them with a nod of her head to do the right thing just as their father would if he were present, and tell the truth.

Gertrude and Miles were noble and nodded in the affirmative and said in unison, "Yes."

"Well." The principal said with a voice that ill hid his joyful malevolence. "I think that for the seriousness of your actions expulsion is the best course of action, we simply cannot tolerate troublemakers the likes of you two at Hillwood High School."

" **EXPELLED**?" Both kids said with shock as the blood drained from their faces.

"Are the other students expelled for what they did?" Gertrude asked with anger as she flew out of her seat, and Helga caught her uninjured hand.

The principal smiled sideways. "No, why would I expel innocent children who were defending themselves from a vicious attack?"

Gertrude pointed her rigid finger in Mr. Cashwell's face and forcefully indicted, "INNOCENT _**MY**_ A," The girl exclaimed with a raised voice as Helga pulled her back down into her seat. The guarding mother gave her a look before her rightfully angry, headstrong girl got a chance to finish her thoughts, and use her favorite word.

The heavy-handed principal ended with, "I am sure that you can show yourselves out." Then he looked down his nose at Helga, "Mrs. Shortman, I am an extremely busy man and your children's actions today have put me behind schedule. Good day."

The calm looking mother fished around in her purse, got out the keys to the Packard, and handed them to her son. "Miles, Gertie, go wait in the car, I wish to speak to Mr. Cashwell alone please."

Miles took the keys from his mother's barely shaking hand, and took a moment to glance into her blue eyes, and despite the fact that his mom looked calm facially; it was fully evident that she, in the terminology of his generation, was pissed off.

Gertrude looked at her mother too, seeing that her face was beginning to get really red. Helga smiled falsely, looked at the two of them, and said through her teeth, "Go now," Then Helga finished normally, "Oh, and don't turn on the radio please. The dash speaker is blown."

The children were very happy to obey immediately, because only once before had they ever seen their mother act like this, thank God.

That one time was in honor of a mugger who brandished a knife in front of their tiny faces demanding money from their mother when they were little while walking home from the grocery store. Instead of telling them to drop the bags and run, Helga pushed them both behind her with her arms, and told them to be careful to not mash the loaf of bread that they had just bought.

From what Miles could remember, it didn't take long for the foolish man to beg the eyewitnesses to the event to save him from their crazed mother once she really got started in on him. It took two police officers, Harvey the mail carrier, and Mr. Green to pull their enraged mother off the poor wretched fool after she had tackled him to the ground, straddled his stomach, and started to beat the ever-loving hell out of him with a bag of apples. When those broke open and rolled away, Helga employed her oldest allies, 'Ol Betsy, and the Five Avengers, otherwise known as her fists.

The neighborhood still talked about it to that very day, and the tale was one of their godfather Gerald's favorite urban legends.

Miles and Gertrude walked swiftly out of Cashwell's office, leaving him to his fate. The two of them knew that they were in trouble, that was for sure, but the kids knew that they were much better off and were oh so happy to not be in their principal's unfortunate shoes, because he was going to get it.

The kids walked into the waiting area of the office, and as Miles was about to turn the doorknob to exit, he spied Courtney's fleece pullover lying on the floor between two chairs. The thoughtful boy picked up the forgotten treasure with reverence, neatly folded it, and then draped it over his forearm to safeguard. As the boy stared down at the article of clothing, rubbing its softness, and scrutinizing its every detail to commit to his memory, Gertrude had to finally open the door, and yank her brother out it before someone they knew, which was everyone, saw his questionable behavior.

Once they were in the hall and seeing Miles' actions getting even more obsessive over the clothing as he petted it like a wounded animal, Gertie would have made a joke about Gollum's precious, the One Ring, but she knew that now was definitely not the time, especially after she saw the boy's forlorn expression.

Instead of teasing him, Gertie took the keys to the Packard from him, and placed a comforting hand on Miles' shoulder as they walked out of Hillwood High School, thinking with sadness at the real possibility, perhaps for what would be their last time.

Even though she wasn't so sure, Gertie assured for both his and her sake, "It's okay, Miles, it'll all be okay."

* * *

Inside, Helga closed the door to the confusion of the overbearing man she looked at, and locked it.

She was a good person, at least she tried to be, but sometimes being good didn't get the job done, especially with people who were not so good themselves.

In rare instances such as these, Helga Shortman sometimes asked a favor from a slumbering bit of her spirited younger self.

Thankfully, the conniving, sometimes questionably moral nine-year-old girl named Helga G. Pataki, whom she kept on retainer, was always very happy to oblige when it was appropriate to come out for some decidedly devious playtime.

The principal watched in curiosity as the gorgeous, curvaceous woman took two of the seats in front of the desk.

After that, Helga set to work placing them side by side, so that she could sit in one chair, and allow the other to cradle her legs.

If she were going to make the principal her bitch, she had to be comfortable, now didn't she?

Seductively, Helga took her soft hair out of its tight professional bun, and then allowed her long, soft, flowing blonde locks the freedom to untangle, falling to her shoulders with a shake of her head and a gentle tug.

As she pulled her skirt upwards a bit to allow her delicious calves to be fully exposed, the crafty woman leaned her head over the backrest of the chair, allowing her silky hair to tumble over the side of it in tantalizing waves.

The principal, taken aback by the mother's actions, asked in curiosity, "What are you doing, Mrs. Shortman?"

In silence, the clever woman snaked her arm up over the desk, and felt around for a piece of candy that sat in the dish near the edge.

Without asking permission, she took one, unwrapped it, and placed it in her hot, wet mouth.

After rolling the cellophane wrapper between her fingers for a few moments into a tight ball, she flicked it to the floor with no regard as to where it fell. "I'm just getting comfortable." Then the temptress said in a silky soft, sultry seductive voice, "Please, call me Helga."

The principal cleared his throat as the beautiful woman said with a partially full mouth, "I just love butterscotch, don't you?" Helga licked her lips and continued as the hard candy gently clattered across her teeth. "Sweet and salty, I gotta' tell you, it's the best of both worlds isn't it?" The principal, taking Helga completely in, could only nod in agreement as she added; "It reminds me of my husband, Arnold, actually." Sitting up slightly, Helga inquired, "You've met him, haven't you?"

With that, the confident vixen took the glistening candy out of her full red lips with a wet thumb and index finger with a smile. She slowly licked the lozenge with her long, dexterous red tongue, and then placed it back into her hot mouth, favoring the shocked man with a wink.

''Hmmm. He liked that," Helga thought, as Cashwell looked entranced as he answered, "He's an extremely fortunate man to be married to a woman of your renown." The greedy man said eying her, watching her every move from that moment on. "Not to mention your numerous talents."

Now that she had his full attention, the woman felt comfortable in going to the next step.

"You know, Mr. Cashwell," The cajoling woman said softly while curling a long lock of her hair around her index finger, then capriciously tossing it away, "I think that your punishment of Miles and Gertrude is a bit harsh, don't you?"

The man perused the woman's long, slender, sumptuous legs, and he couldn't help but stare at the half-unbuttoned polo shirt that gave him an extremely stingy view of her cleavage.

Helga took note of his attentions, and reveled in the fact that she almost had him where she wanted him, way ahead of schedule.

God, he was so dumb.

Helga suggested, "You must do what you feel is best of course, Mr. Cashwell, but isn't there something that we can do to see to it that my kids don't have to go to another school? Senior year has just started, and it would just be ever so inconvenient to transfer them to another school seeing that this is their last year of attendance here."

The Principal's wicked mind quickly began to work on a solution to the woman's dilemma.

She had locked the door, was acting provocatively, and had made insinuations. She certainly must want his ass badly, and he was more than willing to help her with her predicament.

Slyly he said, "Well, rules are rules, Mrs. Shor," He tittered playfully, "I mean, Helga. We cannot allow children to flout them, now can we? Chaos would rule. But," He said as he moved closer, "I believe that we could work something out to both our satisfaction, wouldn't you agree?"

Helga asked nonchalantly, "Are the rules really so important to you, Mr. Cashwell?"

"Please, feel free to call me Byron." The principal invited as he moved closer to the gorgeous woman, wanting to run his grubby fingers through her hair so badly he could taste it. "And to answer your question, yes, of course the rules are important."

Helga asked with a knowing lilt, "How is Mrs. Cashwell doing as of late? I haven't seen her since the Christmas party last year." Noticing the look on his face, Helga didn't even bother to wait for the principal to question the non sequitur of the comment, choosing to cut right through the bullshit, and move in for the kill.

"Tell me, Byron," Helga wondered with a small shrug, "Does Mrs. Cashwell know you were doing the horizontal mambo with Miss Personality out there in the janitor's closet, fully in disregard of the rules of marriage?"

Helga smiled innocently as the filthy man's ship of hope crashed on the jagged reef of her will, and the caught man scoffed, "What are you talking about?"

The woman smirked and waved her hand to the side as she sat up from her hastily manufactured recliner, "Jesus Christ, Man, don't even try to deny it!" Helga said in a harsh, but knowingly humorous tone. "I saw you in there, your naked ass in the air, pushing into that ugly slut outside while you were panting like a dog in the hot summer sun!"

The man's face turned white as he blustered, "No one would ever believe you, Helga."

The confident woman smiled with a point of her finger in his direction, and declared with a daring tone, "You might have tried to screw my kids over just now, but don't even think about starting with me, Bucko, because I'll win." With a menacing smile, Helga advised, "I always win."

"What of it?" Cashwell defended, knowing that he had been caught out. The mean spirited man declared, somehow foolishly thinking that he had some shred of control over the developing events, "There's nothing you can do to either prove it, or now, to change my mind about my decision about your kids' punishment."

"Well, I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am to hear that, Byron." The conniving woman began with a wistful voice, "Rumors start oh so easily you know." The man's eyes widened as she shifted her long body, and put her high-heeled feet up on his desk, flipping her long blonde locks behind shoulders sharply like a scorpion's tail ready to strike.

With a high-pitched voice, Helga expounded, "They start as the tiniest snowball, and end as a crushing avalanche devouring everything in its path like a starving beast."

Her voice drifted off with a dreamlike quality, "Marriages, careers, lives," The wicked woman's voice only got smoother as she said innocently, "I mean I'll only be insinuating what I heard at mother's coffee morning next Monday, and please, Byron, let's be completely honest with one another, shall we?"

Helga slung her legs off of the edge of his desk, stood erect, gripped the edge of it, and leaned forward until she was directly in the Principal's ugly face, his only recourse being to back up unconsciously, taken completely aback by her domineering presence. "Who do you really think everyone is going to believe, you or me?" The woman asked with a naughty tone and raised eyebrow, "I am famous multiple Olympic gold medal winner, and published author, Doctor Helga Geraldine Shortman."

The woman smiled knowingly. "I've been a guest on The Okrah Winseed Show, three times actually, and you know how some of these housewives that help out around here feel about her." Helga said with a factual tone, "They'll buy, eat, read, watch, or listen to anything anyone tells them if Okrah had anything to do with them." With a humorous lilt, the artful woman ended with a smile, "Not unlike religious zealots, actually."

The man backed away from Helga as she walked forward with downwards slanted eyebrows and continued her onslaught against the careless aggressor. "Besides, I'm pretty damn popular around here. I'm the go to girl, the last minute miracle worker that everyone likes who comes through in a pinch without fail, you know;" The powerful woman said with a lilt, "When 'uh, oh' turns into 'oh, shit'?"

The sweating principal swallowed hard as Helga continued, "I'm the dedicated mother who bakes like a demon possessed for fund raisers, and is the first telephone number on the calling tree."

The outclassed man rounded the raised desk, and stepped up in a feeble attempt to get away from the disturbingly rational woman as she followed, staying right in his nasty face. Soon Cashwell felt the seat of his chair touch his legs from in behind him, and he could retreat no further from the woman as her face got angrier looking. "And lest we forget, Buddy Boy, I'm the last minute hero who donated six thousand much needed dollars to the school's extra curricular activities fund that was in the red not too long ago, putting it well back into healthy black."

The woman smirked as she put a single slender finger in the Principal's chest and pushed him backwards, making him fall back into his chair. In surprise, the red-faced sweating man stared at the ferocious woman towering above him in terror, and looked at his accuser as if she had grabbed him by the base of his testicles with a claw hammer, and was starting to twist them off.

The justified mother put her hands on the armrests of Mr. Cashwell's chair, positioning herself in his personal space, assuming a greater place of dominance. Once positioned the way that she thought would be the most intimidating, Helga continued with a wicked lilt that told the ugly truth, "Or, will they believe _you_ , Mister Lover Man?" The irate mother asked as her eyes lolled upwards in their sockets in seemingly ecstatic pleasure, "The domineering, unjust, heavy handed, mean spirited **prick** that it seems everyone just _loves_ to hate."

It was mean, but Helga didn't care seeing as who it was, and the gloves were off after what he had just tried to do to her children. "Hell, Man, if you were to leave Hillwood High right this second, everyone associated with this school would throw a party, and sing 'Thank God and Greyhound He's Gone'."

Helga looked at what she loosely called a man up and down in contempt as she tilted her head, lowered her body, and almost touched noses with the principal. "And don't kid yourself for a second, Playa', nobody likes you." Helga pointed with her eyes and a head movement towards the general direction of the receptionist outside the walls of the room. "Probably not even your skanky little hose beast outside."

The angry woman stepped in behind the office chair, turned it towards the large desk, raised her leg, then pushed it from in behind with her foot, making the arms of it slam into the desk hard.

Cashwell, who was still reeling, jumped with the speed of the push, the abrupt roughness of the stop, and then jerked his eyes up towards Helga who had bent down to look at him from the side, her hand on the backrest of the chair to prevent his escape.

"This is what you're going to _do_ , Principal Cashwell." Helga commanded disrespectfully, finishing her job of verbally emasculating the man. "You've had a change of heart because you're such a prince." The valiant mother said with a bitter, sarcastic tone. "My kids do deserve some punitive action for what they've done today, but certainly not what you've decided."

Helga studied the man's desktop calendar blotter pointing at the dates with her slender finger. The kids most definitely needed some time to recover from the worst effects of their injuries, but couldn't miss much school either because they would get behind on their work, so she planned quite well to accommodate both. "Today is Friday," Cutting the principal a look, Helga dictated, "You're going to give Miles and Gertie a three day suspension starting next week Monday, and they will come back to school Thursday of the same week. After they serve their three-day suspension, none of this will be held against them. Got it?" The woman said in a threatening tone.

When the defeated man sat at his desk and nodded comprehension, Helga then added the last terms of the deal. "Courtney Gammelthorpe is a really good kid; she excels at school, and has done a lot to make this school shine with her achievements, both academically and athletically." Helga gave the principal a look, "God knows this place needs it under your direction."

Done with her crushing, but truthful tangent, Helga added for the benefit of her friend, and son's secret love, "The poor girl has been through a lot this year, and as such seeing what a kind, and understanding soul that you truly are, you will forgive her outburst in the hallway today; and not punish her for it at all."

The woman noticed the man looking away from her, so to regain his attention; Helga pounded her fist onto the desk asking sternly, "Understand?" The man nodded in absolute fear as Helga continued pointing her finger in front of his crossed, beady black eyes, making a valid threat. "I can tell you one other thing for sure right now too, Byron, that if you so much as think about backpedaling on any of our arrangement, I will bring down suffering on you the likes of which the devil himself couldn't conjure."

Helga's blue eyes darkened, and she promised, "And I don't mean exposing your early little Christmas present to yourself with Miss America out there either, Santa."

The man nodded up and down, in both agreement and fear, wondering what other dark secrets she knew about him, and Helga pulled the office chair back away from the desk and forcefully turned it so the ugly man was again facing her.

Much happier, and feeling as if she had really struck a blow for true justice, Helga's eyes brightened and her voice became upbeat and happy as she forcefully took his hand to shake, "Well, thank you so much! This meeting has been quite productive, Mr. Cashwell, and I will see you at the French club cheese festival booth!"

Helga tittered, turned, walked towards the door, unlocked it, and said cheerfully with a wave as she exited, "Have a nice day!"

Before she closed the door behind her, Helga realized that she had forgotten her manners.

Poking her head back inside the door, she said with a smile, wink and a buddy point, "Oh and thank you so much for the butterscotch, Byron, it was absolutely delicious!"

When she exited, Helga slammed the door as hard as she could, and the terrified man jumped.

Then the angry mother rounded the corner of the hallway leading from the office, walked towards the snippy receptionist, and placed her hands on the desk with a growl. When she leaned over, her long blonde hair and bangs draped over her shoulders and face; forcing her to pull it back so she could address the impolite woman, "The next time I ask you if my kids are okay, you damn well better tell me, do you understand?"

The woman swallowed hard at the anger on the irritated mother's face, her eyes widening as she tried to make an excuse, "But,"

Helga said curtly, "Shut up."

The woman did, and the angered mothers continued, "Also, don't ever let me so much as hear about you yelling at one of my kids ever again." The receptionist nodded and watched in fearful surprise as Helga left the office and walked quickly down the hall.

The principal, who heard the exchange, looked at the secretary, she back at him back, and the two of them went back to work educated themselves.

"My, my that certainly went well didn't it?" Helga said to herself with a smirk as she powerfully strutted out of the front doors of the school while pulling her long locks into a low ponytail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Arnold was created by Craig Bartlett, and is owned by Viacom Inc. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> Transformers, as well as the faction name Autobot, and character name Jazz are the property of Hasbro Inc, under license from Takara/Tomy Ltd. of Japan. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> Star Wars, and "The Force" were created by George Lucas, and is owned by Twentieth Century Fox/Lucasfilm Ltd. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The character name Gollum, as well as the books The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers, and The Return of the King, were created and written by J.R.R. Tolkein. No infringement on those works, or the ones who own publishing rights is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The brand name Aigner belongs to designer Etienne Aigner, no infringement on that property is not implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The name Corvette, exterior color Torch Red, and interior color Oyster White are the property of General Motors Company Incorporated, Chevrolet Motor Division. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The brand name Ford is owned by the Ford Motor Company Incorporated. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The now defunct automobile company/brand name Packard does not belong to me, nor does the name Porsche.
> 
> "Dino" the green brontosaurus icon featured on the late 1950's through 1960's Sinclair gasoline station signs are the property of The Atlantic Richfield Refining Company. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> "Thank God and Greyhound She's Gone" was written by Roy Clark. None of the lyrics are in the body of this story, only a reference to the title, however, no infringement on his property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The song "Harper Valley PTA" was written by Tom T. Hall. No infringement on his property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The song "Mr. Blue Sky" was written by Jeff Lynne, and performed by The Electric Light Orchestra. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> A/N: I would like to extend a special thank you to Time Traveler in Transformerland and his father for the information provided about the ignition system of many of the 1940's Packard models. Thank you so much, Gentlemen.


	3. Stormy

With great trepidation, Miles and Gertie waited in the car for their mother to come out of her private conference with the school principal.

Unknown to the other, they thought in unison that surely she could work out the trouble that they had labored so diligently to get themselves into. Neither one of the kids could imagine having to leave Hillwood High, because it would be unthinkable.

Granted, Hillwood sucked just as hard as any other school in the district did, but all their friends were there, as well as their after school activities too. Due to their dedicated studies spread out over the past three years, they also had the added wisdom of already knowing which bathrooms to avoid, and where all the little hidey holes were located in case they wanted to sneak out to lunch off campus, or trade a Kid Bar for an illicit hall pass so they could go to a monster truck show.

For the times they couldn't escape, both of their immune systems and stomachs had already built up a fairly strong tolerance to the food in the cafeteria, and if they were forced to leave Hillwood High, enjoying Taco Day somewhere else in the school district might be just as good as signing their own death warrants.

Pondering such, Gertrude's expression was one of worry, and even though he knew it wasn't good enough, Miles attempted to make up for everything that had happened in some way by regretfully muttering, "I'm so sorry about all of this, Gertie, I really am."

The girl did a double take at her brother, and then asked in surprised irritation, "For what?"

"Because it's my fault that you're in trouble over something I started then couldn't finish on my own." The boy replied downheartedly while looking away, admitting truthfully, "I wish you had just let them all have their way with me for your own sake."

"Good grief." Gertrude sighed with resigned frustration like Charlie Brown might, and then hoisted herself up onto the bench seat on her knees, gripping the back rest of it with her hands. The resulting discomfort of the action made her harshly begin, "If you start that, Miles, I swear to God I'll,"

Normally, Gertrude would have gleefully continued with the colorful threat on the tip of her tongue, but thought better of it when she gazed empathetically into her hurting brother's eyes.

Taking pity, she heaved a calming sigh, "Look, it's like I said in the office, Meathead, I love you." With exasperation she exclaimed, "You're my brother for God's sake! Do you think I'd just sit back on my ass and let those dumb dicks tap dance on your head?" Before Miles could answer, Gertie added with more force, and a point, "Hell no!" Gertie waved her swollen hand dismissively, despite the fact that it hurt badly, and assured, "And as far as my actions being your fault goes, the decision to jump into the thing was my idea, not yours."

The regretful boy declared, "I shouldn't have hit James Barber."

"Yes, that's true," Gertie volunteered prudently as Miles put his hand on his hot, throbbing forehead, but then he looked up at his sister in utter surprise when she added, "However, contrary to what Mr. Asswell thinks, Miles, you weren't entirely wrong in what you did either!"

Then Gertrude began to justify the boy's violent actions with uncomfortable attention to detail. "Todd, Tim, and James had absolutely no business making fun of Courtney, and James sure as hell shouldn't have tripped her and made her fall! She could have been hurt really badly, especially the way that her face hit the floor! Also, after what he said?"

Fuming, Gertie's teeth ground together in her anger as she thought of the complete injustice of the day's events once again for all parties concerned, then she vehemently belched, "We do deserve to be punished, but those three nimrods do too, and what they did this morning was a hundred times worse than what either one of us did." With an authoritative air, Gertie finished, "Mister Cashwell's verdict was extremely wrong given our spotless records until today too."

Miles said with sadness, "I'm no better than they are, though."

Gertie sighed forcefully. "Don't you even dare go there, Miles Shortman!"

The girl chose her words carefully before speaking, but couldn't help but roll her eyes at his past behavior for the foolishness of it, "Yes, you've teased Courtney, and yes, it was definitely wrong, and God knows you're paying the price for it right now because you're in misery over it!" The boy looked down, but his head jerked upwards when Gertie added positively, "But at least you've never tried to physically hurt Courtney." She further explained, "Added to that you've realized what a jackass you've been in the past, and for the last few months you've done one better, and quit worrying the hell out of her." Gertie rubbed her brother's shoulder gently, and then waved her hand away from herself violently. "God knows that's more than the football goons, and every other dumb shit crawling the halls here that see them as role models have done."

Miles shook his head, realizing much too late, "Yeah, I'm a real hero, 'Gert, I shouldn't have even been torturing her to begin with."

Gertie made Miles look at her with a gentle upwards pulling of his chin, and cast sunshine on her brother's otherwise dark outlook on both the incident, and himself with a loving smile. "Well, yes, you're right, but don't forget that it was also you who protected Courtney today when you were way outnumbered which was really brave of you." Prouder of him than mere words could describe, she added, "You also did so regardless of what anyone thought too, while everyone else just watched, didn't lift a finger to help, or even care about what happened to her."

The slightly smiling boy shook his head, "That's not so." He raised his eyes to look upwards at his sister, wishing he had only a miniscule portion of the honor and bravery she possessed. "Kyo cared, and you definitely did too, 'Gert."

The girl smiled at the boy, and reassured, "You got to them before Kyo, or Betsy and the Five Avengers could, Monkeyman." He couldn't help but chuckle at his sister's devil may care attitude about their shared state of trouble, and admire it. "Besides, Miles," The thoughtful girl continued, "You even tried to make things even more right, and apologize to Courtney for everything you've done just a little while ago, didn't you?"

Miles said with some hopeful reticence, "Well, yeah, I guess."

Gertie added evenly, "Hell, that's a whole lot more than the other people would have done, right?"

Miles felt warm at his sister's optimistic words, but he still refused to relinquish any of his guilt over any of it, even though his generous sister did try to make him feel better. Frankly, it surprised Miles that his Gertie gave him so much credit, especially when he felt he didn't deserve it. All the flummoxed boy could muster in the way of a response to his sister's efforts to make him feel better was a quiet but heartfelt, "Thanks, 'Gert."

Gertrude gently brushed his hair with a wide grin and teased, "You're welcome, Stupid." Not bothering to notice the nasty look Miles had on his face for her, she asked curiously, "What I don't understand is why you let those boys beat on you like that." With the question that begged more than he was willing to answer, Miles suddenly found the floorboard beneath his feet extremely interesting. "You got your second degree black belt before I did! You could have killed those boys if you wanted to!"

Unwilling to confess his motivation, Miles simply looked away out the window with a slight shrug. "I don't know." Wanting the focus of conversation to be off of him, Miles changed the subject abruptly, "Do you think mom is going to yell at us?"

The girl shrugged and theorized with a cautious brightness on her voice, "I think she was probably pretty angry when she got here at first, but I think Mrs. Horowitz told her the truth about what really happened." The girl said with guarded hope, "I can't say mom and dad are going to let us off the hook for all of this completely, but I don't think she's as mad at us as she could be, especially after how Mr. Cashwell was too strict and all."

Miles began to laugh. "Can you believe Courtney said that to him?"

With the memory the girl burst out into wicked laughter. "It seems as if your girlfriend has a dirty little mind on her, Shortman." Envious of the honor student's manipulation of the more questionable terminology inherent in the English language, Gertie queried, "Is any of what she said even physically possible?" With a scowl garnishing her face, she added, "I doubt that you could even do it with grease and a shoehorn."

Miles' face twisted, and he interjected while forcing his hands to the side, "Gertie, ewwww!" Then he grinned wickedly. "All I know is that I think Miss Gammelthorpe could certainly give you a few pointers on combinations of filth, Potty Mouth."

Gertrude's eyebrows lowered, but then her lips turned up on one side, and just as she was about to open her mouth and prove her brother so incorrect that his ears would burn, Miles, seeing his sister's expression begged, "Please for the love of God don't say whatever you're thinking! I'm sorry; you're the dirty mouth queen, Gertie!"

Gertie muttered, "Killjoy." Then the disappointed girl leaned her back against the passenger side door, stretching her legs out to the driver's side of the seat, and crossed her arms.

Soon the cabin of the vehicle was quiet and the two were left to ponder the eccentricities of life, themselves, and the day so far in silence. As Gertie closed her eyes from the sun, and leaned her head against the backrest of the seat, she heard sniffing from the backseat. Gertie wondered if Miles were crying, and if he was, she wanted to comfort him, but also wanted to allow him to keep his dignity too.

To ascertain the emotional state of her brother, Gertrude glanced between the crack created between the seat and door.

Instead of the bitter tears of regret and sorrow, what the pained voyeur saw through the minuscule aperture worried her.

Soon enough Miss Shortman was simply peering over the top of the back of the seat, not even bothering to try to hide the fact that she was watching him, as if Miles would notice anyway.

It was so damn creepy what he was doing at the moment, but it was also too weird not to watch.

After a few more moments of overt staring that Miles hadn't even noticed, Gertie wondered if she should offer to leave him alone with it for a few minutes.

With a scrunched face, and considering the options available to Miles in the confines of the backseat of a large American car, Gertrude thought there was a very real possibility that her seemingly perverted brother just might take her up on it.

Not even noticing he had a concerned observer, Miles buried his face in the warm, soft, comforting, fragrant collar of the pullover Courtney Gammelthorpe accidentally left behind in the office once again.

Inhaling through both his mouth and nose sucking in air deeply, he took in the heady essence of the girl he was in love with, and then exhaled with a shuddered breath.

There was the odor of the outdoors, a seductive, sexy smelling perfume that Miles had to know what it was or he would die, and the tang of what he could only gather was Courtney's own tantalizing scent.

The clothing was dotted in places with what looked like grey, yellow, and white cat hairs, but the infatuated boy didn't care if he sucked down every one of them as he sank his face into the soft pullover again, relishing the smorgasbord of wonderful odors.

Gertrude, who at first had politely tried to not notice her brother acting so creepy, had finally had enough, and said with irritation, "Jesus freakin' Christ, Miles, quit doin' that!"

Miles pulled his face out of the black pullover, scowled, and asked correctly, "Doing what?"

Gertie pulled a face while pointing at the dark cloth object and exhaled a forceful breath, "Huffing that fucking pullover like its glue!"

Miles' eyebrows went downwards as Gertie continued berating his behavior, "It looks like you're getting high off the damn thing!" The girl looked out the windows of the car checking for eavesdroppers, then scowled at Miles up and down, expounding with a worried whisper, "I'd hate to see what you'd do if you got your hands on a pair of her drawers!"

Miles blushed, and then gave Gertie an ugly look, but despite her insults towards his behavior in relation to the fragrant textiles that belonged to his sweet goddess, he decided that he would be generous to his sister, and let her in on what he thought was a good thing.

* * *

Helga walked towards the large green car in the distance with a smile and a real feeling of accomplishment. She knew that her worried kids would be happy to hear the good news about their continued scholastic career at Hillwood High, but as she got closer, however, she heard the discordant sounds of yet another heated argument.

The frustrated mother growled, then sighed, and picked up her pace towards the car, all the while wondering why the many years she had spent working in the field of child psychology had not taken her one step closer in the quest to figure her own kids out.

* * *

Back in the car, Gertie yelled loudly, "I mean it, Miles! Quit it!" However, when her warnings failed, the girl made the ultimate threat, "Get that damn thing out of my face, Sicko, or I swear to you by God and sonny Jesus I will KILL your stupid ass, and make it look like an accident!"

In turn, Miles acted offended, as if his irate sister had suggested setting fire to the Shroud of Turin, a splinter of the true cross, or another priceless religious relic, like the toenail of a dead pope or something.

A few feet away, Helga briskly stepped up the speed of her steps to the large green car, having every intention of putting a stop to the exponentially growing noise coming from it.

The confused mother would have thought that the kids, seeing as much trouble they were in, could at least hold off on trying to kill each other until they learned of their fate, but then she remembered who the arguing children belonged to.

She would have shouted across the parking lot for the kids to knock it off or else, but Helga knew from experience that the action would have been both ignored, and serve to only draw unwanted attention to the debacle taking place inside.

Heaven knew that they didn't need any more of that today.

Meanwhile, inside the car, the Miles tried to clue his ignorant sister in to what he thought was a good thing. "Here, just try it, Gertie, it's like a,"

Gertie's eyes instantly widened at her love struck brother's metaphor as he forced the hairy pullover underneath her scrunched nose again. In response, Gertie held up both of her hands while backing away from the article of clothing as the zealot continued to force it into her face. Shaking her head at the depths of her brother's depravity, Gertie offered her opinion. "Oh, God, that is so not right, Miles!"

Not soon enough, Helga thrust her head in the driver's side window with the purpose of telling the twins to at least pretend to be civilized until they got home, but before she could utter a word, Gertrude declared loudly as she violently pushed the pullover away from her face a final time, "I don't want an orgasm in my nose, Asshat!"

Unable to even process the fact that her daughter needed getting on to for using a foul adjective based off of a noun in conjunction with her brother again, Helga exclaimed curtly, "A WHAT?"

Miles froze in place holding the pullover up, with his sister frozen in the position of pushing it away from her person, with both snapping their heads to the side to stare at their mother like deer caught in the high beams of headlights before being struck by oncoming traffic. In turn, Helga's blue eyes were as wide open as they would go, and her upper lip was turned up to one side.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, the twins opened their mouths to make a flimsy explanation, but before they could, Helga closed her eyes, held up a hand, and said with a shaking head, "I don't even want to know."

Before anything more could be said; Helga got in the car, closed the door, and faced her silent, now behaving children. "Everything's okay." Miles and Gertie looked at their mother in guarded hope as they silently waited for what had to be good news, because nothing else would have been acceptable. "I talked to Mr. Cashwell and he has decided that instead of expulsion, your punishment is to be a three day suspension starting next week Monday." With satisfaction, Helga informed, "You both go back to school next Thursday."

Both kids sighed in relief as the threat of having to go to another school was no longer an issue, but Miles asked, "How did you change his mind, Mom? He seemed pretty sure of his decision."

Helga simply grinned and said with a lilt that hinted at more, "I just appealed to his good side, Kids."

Gertie wondered facetiously, "He's got one?"

Helga shrugged. "Everyone has a good side, 'Gert, sometimes you just have to pull it out of them."

Both kids studied each other in surprise, then the look on their mother's face, and knew not to ask another question about her miracle working of the day. Noticing the looks her kids were sharing, Helga announced like Gertrude the Elder might, "Well, we're not getting anything accomplished here, Pardners, so what do you say we cut a trail into the sunset?"

When she didn't get a response to either her well executed western cowgirl accent, or the swinging of an invisible lariat above her head, Helga simply started the Packard, and soon they were pulling out of the parking lot of the school.

* * *

On the way home, the mood was uncomfortably silent, and even though she'd never admit it openly, Helga would have preferred a piss fight over something ridiculous, like the one she had broken up earlier, or the likes of one from last week, which was over the proportion of marshmallow eggs versus sugar frosted bacon strips in a box of Bacon and Eggs cereal.

In Helga's mind, anything would have preferable rather than the deafening silence that she was not particularly enjoying at the moment.

With concern, Helga studied her daughter first; Gertie was staring out the passenger side window with a frown and her arms crossed, most likely feeling badly and beating herself up about the morning's events, and her involvement. Helga knew that even though Gertie acted tough, and as if she didn't care, she knew that her girl hated the concept of hurting others, no matter who it was, and that her conscience was bothering her.

Then Helga's worried eyes then focused on her upset son.

Miles cheeks were red, but otherwise, the rest of him was pale as milk as he was also looking out the window by his side. From his expression, obviously the boy was submerged in a murky world all his own as he clutched something black in his arms to his chest, all the while looking almost ready to burst into tears.

Not even angry with the children any longer, but feeling a great swell of empathy, Helga sighed lightly. She needed to make her kids feel better, but also knew that she couldn't possibly condone them doing such a thing again either.

So, instead of some scripted sounding lecture, Helga decided, against her better judgment to keep quiet, to just wing it, hoping it sounded okay.

Wishing for the best, the caring mother addressed her troubled children in a heartfelt and slightly joking manner, "I'm not going to yell at you when we get home, if that's what you're worried about." Neither of the kids said anything, and Helga conceded, "I can't lie, and say that I'm pleased with what happened this morning." Both kids looked downwards, and away from their mother. "I don't think it was right for you to hit that boy, Miles." The boy took a deep breath then exhaled looking away with shame. "Gertie, I can't say it was right for you to fight those boys either, but this whole," Helga searched for the right word, "Thing, has been a study in grey areas too."

Arnold did so as second nature, but Helga made a conscious effort to try as best she knew how, to always let her children know that they were unconditionally loved, and adored, no matter what they did. Helga didn't want her children to grow up in the environment of lonely, benign neglect that she had known as a young child.

As such, Helga was sure that Arnold and she had completed that mission, but people needed reminders of how much they were loved, and recognition for the good things they did too, this silent car ride being a prime example of such.

Brightly, Helga mentioned, "It was very brave of you, Gertie, to stick by your brother when he needed your help." She smiled warmly into the rear view mirror, "Miles, it was so valiant of you to defend Courtney, despite the method." With irritation at the situation, rather than her kids, she added, "I know that neither one of you could go tell a teacher what was happening either because of 'The Schoolyard Code'."

With that both kids looked at their mother like she was crazy. How could she possibly know anything about something like that?

Their mother continued, "I also realize that something had to be done right then, because hard telling what else those good for nothing boys might have done to Courtney without your interference, because they are complete garbage." With disgust at their other classmates, Helga added, "I doubt there were enough guts in the rest of the onlookers to fill a wash tub, so you two had to step up and do something!"

With that statement, Gertrude looked at her mother in shock, but Miles on the other hand looked upwards at his mother in knowing regret, but thankfully her wise blue eyes were not looking back at him in the rear view mirror at that moment.

Both his mother and father had tried several times to warn him about Tim, Todd, and James, that they were not as they seemed, but he of course didn't want to pay any attention because he thought he knew better. As a result, Miles discovered that he had to find out the hard way that his much smarter mom and dad were only too correct about his "friends" after all.

Helga continued, "At least what you two did maybe sent a message to everyone in attendance that it isn't," She searched for the right word, hoping she wouldn't sound too dorky, "Cool, for anyone to humiliate someone else and physically abuse them."

Eventually, Helga couldn't contain herself, and began to wrap her talk up with love and un-mistakable pride in her voice, "I just want you both to know how proud I am that you both told the truth in the office when Mr. Cashwell asked you about the fight, and how well spoken both of you were. I promise that your father will be proud of you for that too." With that, Helga ended her parental talk, "I'm not going to say anything else about it now, and we'll talk about this more when dad gets home tonight, okay?"

With the silence she was receiving, Helga felt absolutely foolish, and that none of what she said had made any sense at all. Judging from the kids' facial expressions, she had done more harm than good, it seemed.

Helga felt like a total hypocrite too, because along with Arnold, they would both have to give some sort of punishment to the kids for the happenings that morning, but she didn't want to. The headstrong woman was a firm believer in no one on God's green earth being above an ass beating, and if the three football player's parents didn't teach them any regard for others, how appropriate it was for someone else to demonstrate the error of their ways.

Thinking about her own behavior in the past, in particular when she was younger, Helga thought that it was a wonder that as a child, acting the way she did, that she didn't get her clock cleaned regularly. Arnold had saved her from the one ass kicking that she was supposed to get, and admittedly, rightfully deserved as a child from Patricia Smith-Burman.

As silence pounded her ears, Helga went further into 'mother mode' and looked at her two babies. She was worried about them, and even though it was true they were almost legally adults, they would still always be her babies. The events of the day forgotten for a moment, she asked with concern, "Gertie, are you sure your hand is okay?"

The girl nodded. "Yeah, it's okay, I can flex my fingers, I have sensation, and nothing seems to be broken." Brightly she added, "The swelling is even starting to go down."

The woman nodded. "Good. Miles, how's your eye? Is your vision blurry? Can you see out of it? Do you think you need to go to the doctor?"

The boy glanced up at his mother via the rear view mirror, and followed his sister's nonchalant attitude towards his pain and injuries, "Nah, its okay, it's just a bruise. I didn't get hit directly in my eye, just below and above it. The cut isn't deep or anything, it just bled a lot because of where it is."

The lovingly concerned mother, whenever her children were upset or injured, always tried to show she cared and lessen the blow somehow. Now that the kids were older, and wanting to keep their street credentials intact, Helga knew that they didn't want to be seen getting hugs and kisses from their un-cool mom.

In respect of those sentiments, her love for her children through their teenage years was conveyed through feeding them various healthy forms of sugary dairy based foods, fried meat, and potatoes.

"It's almost lunchtime, are either of you hungry?" The mother asked in hope, because if the kids wanted to eat, they were okay. "We can go to The Sugar Shack, or the Root Beer Palace," The loving mother's voice trailed off as she looked at her children looking for a sign of interest.

"I know!" Helga exclaimed in excitement, "Do you want to go to 'Five Guys and a Burger Joint'?" Helga grinned, and waved her hand demonstratively, "I'll simultaneously bore and embarrass you both at the same time about how your dad proposed to me there again." Their mother was looking more than a little foolish when she added, "Then we can flick peanut shells at each other, and make elephant noises like we did when you were little."

The desperately trying woman joked lamely as she looked to her side and in the rear view mirror while tapping the steering wheel with her nails as if testing a microphone. "These are the jokes, people." When she got no response Helga muttered, "Tough crowd." Gertie smiled and so did Miles, both appreciating their mother's attempt to cheer them up. With a voice that sounded like a nervous teenager begging for a date, the worried mother asked, "So, do you want to go? If you don't its okay, I just thought you'd like to, you know."

Sympathetically, Gertie let her mother off the hook by saying, "I'm not really hungry, thanks though. If you and Miles want to stop go ahead, I'll just get some water."

Then Miles chimed in, "I'm not hungry either, but thank you. Are you, Mom? We can stop if you want to get something to eat."

Helga shook her head, "No, I just, well, never mind. You two probably want to spend some time by yourselves anyway." Their mother's voice dropped as she took the turn that led away from downtown and towards home not pressing any further. She gathered that they must truly be upset to refuse the ice cream, hamburgers, and French fries that normally, they'd inhale.

* * *

Across town, she stopped running miles ago and had reverted to walking because she was exhausted.

Courtney was on her usual training route, but didn't usually give out until she got to the top of Hillcrest Street, today however was different though, because she didn't pace herself like she usually did, and was missing the baseline of her techno music to help her time her footfalls. As a result the girl had nothing to put her into a trance, forcing her to reflect upon nothing but her behavior that day, as well as the needless reasons for it. All of that was put out of her mind momentarily when she got into the store district below the other side of the steep Hillcrest climb.

A crowded area, people looked at her like she was either crazy, or they avoided her like the plague when she walked past, but it wasn't until a kind older woman stopped to ask if she were alright did she realize that her nose had bled again. When Courtney paused to look into a store window, and finally saw her reflection, she could truthfully say she looked like one of Gertrude Shortman's celebrated favorite words, or an extra in a George Romero zombie movie.

Her eyes were puffy and red from crying, dust was on her from the road construction she had blundered into, and the blood from her nose had dried on her upper lip and chin. She wasn't far from the park, and she knew that she would have privacy there as school was still in, and people were at work.

When she got there, Courtney spent what felt like hours in the tiny, ill lit restroom soaking the cracked, blackened dried blood on her upper lip and chin. Eventually she got the blood hydrated enough to wipe away without it being terribly uncomfortable for her sore nose, and while she was at it, she wiped her arms and legs free of the grit that covered them as well.

Finished with her face, she took a few more paper towels, soaked them in cold water, and placed the wads over her eyes, soon they looked better, and she was presentable. After drinking some water and running her fingers through her hair, Courtney was satisfied she didn't look like the walking dead anymore with the exception of her clothing.

A hopeful step further, Courtney thought that perhaps the legacy of being the third generation of a line of dry cleaners could somehow give her the innate talent of expunging stains somehow, and she had gone as far as to attempt to remove the blood from her shirt.

Ultimately, Courtney found that she was incorrect about her genetic heritage, and there was nothing that could be done about the red spots on her shirt until she got home, but by then it would probably be too late to remove them, then again, she really didn't care about the stains anyway.

The only thing she was concerned about was being presentable enough to stop into Vitello's flower shop without an ambulance, police, or the city morgue being called.

After spending all of the cash she had in her pocket short of a dollar and some change, she admired the three long stemmed red roses, framed in baby's breath, and wrapped in green tissue paper held in her hand. She had to forgo buying two of her usual order though, because she didn't have enough money to pay for them.

Her mother loved red roses, and being a dutiful daughter, always tried to have one for her when she saw her, because she wanted to please her.

As per the other two roses went, one was for a woman who was in the same section her mother shared that she felt both a kinship and sorry for because she felt she was wrongfully vilified. The third flower was reserved for the young man that was located next to her mother that she loved.

True it was odd for a girl to give a boy a red rose, but this was different, no one would be able to tell it by looking at her, but she was a hopeless romantic.

As she plodded along thinking to herself, Courtney hoped the gift of a flower this time would somehow help the embarrassment her mother would feel about her behavior that day, and upon some reflection, thought perhaps she should have purchased an extra one for her, just to sweeten the pot.

Sooner than she wished, the girl was where her mother was.

Courtney walked past an iron security gate, and then passed a small office, holding up a hand to the man inside, he knew her quite well, and returned her friendly wave with disinterest. He must not have thought much about her walking inside to see her mother because he didn't check her for unwanted contraband. The people at the gate had problems in the past with both loitering and vandalism there, but she gathered that the guard knew she'd certainly never do anything like that.

Walking through the neat well arranged rows of the sections she knew all too well, Courtney said hello to all the interesting people she had a liking for until she reached one of her favorites, and paused to stop. "Hey, Cynthia, how are you? It's nice today, isn't it?" The girl sighed and took the third nicest red rose out of the order she had bought, knowing her mom would like it if she knew she gave a flower to her, especially one who was sympathetic to her only daughter's partial sentiments on the male gender. "I'll just put this here for you, if that's okay. I know you're busy."

The girl placed the flower down in front of the woman, and walked towards a large gnarled oak tree in the distance.

Courtney loved oak trees, especially old ones with low hanging branches, broad gnarled trunks earned with age, and full green umbrella shaped canopies. She had spent so many happy picnics and rests from long walks as a child underneath them in the park when she and her parents were together. Her favorite thing to do on those fondly remembered outings was to go to the open space in the park to fly kites. Unlike other children, she never had to worry about losing hers in the trees, because her mother or father could take a jump or a running leap from the ground, and vault up into whatever tree branches had ensnared her kites to fearlessly climb any height to retrieve them.

As a child she was so entranced by her mother and father's athletic abilities, they were strong, fleet, and agile as cats. Even then, she thought it was a bit strange that her socialite mother and father would have such odd physical abilities. Of course, as witness to their example, their girl wanted to be able to do the exact same things, and in the manner of an impatient child, right then.

Cautiously, her father and mother would help her climb trees under their supervision, and she really enjoyed it, but when she begged to climb by herself, she was always told that she was much too small, and that she would have to wait until she was more tall and stronger.

Of course, that is not the answer an impetuous child ever wishes to hear.

Then one bright, warm shining spring day, just by mere chance, an opportunity presented itself for Courtney to finally at long last to climb a tree all by herself without any parental "no" to impede her. The overzealous little girl was exhilarated at first, as she was emulating her beloved parents, but once she reached a branch she could sit upon, and looked down towards the ground, the endeavor shortly turned south.

Paralyzed with fear, and clinging to the tree she had scaled for dear life, what was supposed to be a fun adventure to be gotten away with, no one being the wiser, had evolved into a nightmare in which she couldn't get down out of. By the time the fire department had come to get her out of the tree in a cherry picker, she was extremely frightened and crying.

Since that day, Courtney had been absolutely and completely terrified of heights, and didn't like to be too far off the ground.

Even when she was old enough to walk to the park to play by herself, Courtney seldom ever got onto any of the equipment except for the swings because of it.

She certainly never set foot on the oldest living thing in the neighborhood, Mighty Pete, or its legendarily well equipped tree house like every other kid in the neighborhood had. Instead the fearfully cautious girl settled for living vicariously through the other children, looking upwards watching them, and staying safely on the ground.

Her peers said she was weird for not wanting to climb Mighty Pete, and some of them had gone as far as to taunt her from the house above, and throw things down at her when she played at the base of the tree.

Once, Miles Shortman climbed down out of the tall landmark with his usual red towel tied around his neck like a cape, and tried to convince her to go up to the tree house with him. He took her hand, and attempted to persuade her that it was really fun up there, and to please come. Miles had even gone as far to promise that the swinging rope and wooden slat ladder was completely safe, that they would climb it slowly, and he promised her that he wouldn't let her fall.

Even after that uncharacteristically generous offer, despite the fact that she wanted to go so badly she could have tasted it, Courtney was still too afraid to go, even with him.

Then the kids above them made fun of Miles for trying to be nice and help her.

As a result, the angry, shamed boy flung her hand out of his, called her stupid for not going up into the tree, and then joined his friends in the tree house again.

Miles never played with her again after that day.

And here she was, underneath another grand, beautiful oak tree that she wouldn't climb for either love or money, despite the fact that deep down inside she wanted to try.

She met her kind, sweet mother there frequently to talk when she had time to. Sometimes, even if she didn't have time, she would still make it. It was such a comfort for the two of them to sit under the cool, shaded green canopy of the tree, and enjoy each others company in comfortable silence. They both loved the relief from the sun under the branches that summer, but now it was fall, the green leaves were turning brown, falling off, and the bench Courtney was walking towards was littered with its dead leaves.

First she saw the boy she was sweet on, and she wished she could have gotten a chance to know him, but it just wasn't meant to be as time and the ironies of life saw to that, but still she spoke kindly to him, presenting him with a gift. "I got this for you." The girl selected the next prettiest rose of the two in her hand. "I'm here to see mom, but there's no reason why I can't say hello to you too, you know." The girl said with a joking lilt as she gave the boy a rose standing quietly for a few moments staring at him, but soon noticed her mother's attention and made an excuse for herself. "I'll be back in a little, okay?"

The girl brushed away leaves from the portion of the bench she was going to sit on and took her place beside her mother. "Hi, Mom." She said, looking away avoiding eye contact with her in shame.

Her mother never started serious conversations with her; she always waited for her to begin, and Courtney was always grateful to her for understanding. Rhonda never pried, or forced her to speak about the happenings of the day, but if Courtney wanted to talk about them, her mother listened, then weighed in with her opinion.

Her mother was her best friend, sometimes she felt, her only friend, and she could divulge any secret to her knowing that she would always be non-judgmental and accepting, no matter what.

She could share with, and talk about everything she loved with the woman without fear of being taunted, made to feel childish, or ashamed for liking them. Her mother went as far as to love the things she and her father did, simply because their interests gave the two of them joy.

That along with a million other things, was all the more reason to realize how special her mother really and truly was.

As of late, the conversations between she and Rhonda were a bit one sided, but she knew that she always listened, so Courtney began to let go.

"Well, I finally did it." The girl sighed and felt fresh tears begin to well in her eyes. "I made a complete and total fool of myself in front of everyone at school today." The girl wiped under her eyes and sniffed. "I got mad at Miles, screamed at, and hit him in the hall." Courtney's voice broke, "I yelled at Dad too, and almost told it."

The girl, mindful of her location, but not wanting to lie, and also taking into account her mother's feelings on dirty language; tried to clean up her foul exclamations in the hall and towards the school principal. "I also said the "F" word a couple of times, and told Mr. Cashwell to do something ugly to himself that there's no way he possibly could, even if he tried."

The girl looked upwards through the partially naked branches above her with a blush, and swore she heard her mother sigh disapprovingly. "I know," The girl corrected herself even before she said it, "You're disappointed in me that I lost it, and I know it's no excuse, but it's just so hard, Mom. I've tried to not let this thing with you bother me, but I can't help it. I really miss you, and I wish you were home."

The girl looked upwards and wiped underneath her eyes as a mower rolled a good distance away from where they were located, its grating roar a gentle hum from where she was sitting. With a sniffle, Courtney admitted with a slightly breaking voice, "I'm so weak."

The girl looked down at the patches of grass that covered the area at her feet. They were green, but slightly browner than the grass surrounding them. Where the squares met, red dirt highlighted the joints, and then she noticed the name plate sitting in front of her mother. The glass was cracked and the paper underneath was discolored with water stains. Wiping her eyes, and composing herself, Courtney wondered aloud, "How did that happen?"

It didn't matter, something like that was clearly an accident, nothing purposefully or maliciously done. "I guess a branch hit it or something." The girl sat down beside her mother and pushed the nameplate a little further into the dirt so that it wouldn't fall over or become dislodged, then smiled and said wistfully, "Rhonda Wellington Lloyd Gammelthorpe."

Sounding exactly like the woman deep in the cool ground beside her, Courtney remarked, "My word, what a mouthful." Allowing a small, painful laugh to exit her throat despite her melancholy mood, Courtney observed, "No wonder you signed contracts, permission slips, and report cards with that funny little scribble."

Then the girl's attention turned to the plot beside her mother's, and after picking leaves off of it Courtney reflected on how old the tenant would have been had he lived.

With a sigh, Courtney turned her attention back to Rhonda, and lay down on the dull, dry grass.

The closest thing she could get to a hug from her mother now, the sad girl rolled to her side, stretched out, and placed her warm arm over her cool mother, simultaneously resting her troubled head on a square of turf that was standing proudly from the others on the grave.

At first her mother's sickness was not so bad, and there was always room for hope.

When the cancer had first been discovered, surgeons gutted Rhonda like a Halloween pumpkin in the form of a complete hysterectomy, and they thought they had eradicated the threat.

A few weeks later, scans were done, and it was found that the cancer had spread to places in Rhonda's body where surgery was not an option.

Some time later, generous multiple trips to both chemotherapy and radiation had made some small progress and everyone thought that along with the doctors' consolidated prognosis', her mother actually had a chance to beat the cancer.

As a consequence of the numerous treatments she endured, Rhonda threw up in an amount that a supermodel would find excessive, and all of her beautiful, shiny black hair had dulled, and then fallen out as well. Her mother didn't care however, because as soon as she was better, it would all grow back, and as far as Rhonda was concerned it didn't matter what she had to go through, just as long as the methods had the desirable effect.

Rhonda Gammelthorpe fought for her life tooth and nail, and if nothing else would keep her around, her unbreakable will surely would.

In conjunction with the technology of medicine, Courtney had also gone to every church service she could, given money, and lit enough candles to rival Liberace; to beseech God himself to aid her mother.

In the end however, none of it did a bit of good.

Tragically, all too soon, Rhonda's warrior spirit, the reversible words of optimistic oncologists, and prayers that didn't leave the ceiling of the church couldn't save her life.

In retrospect, Courtney wished that she hadn't pissed away so much of her time worrying about things that didn't matter, like going to school, working, or kneeling in church praying to a God that so obviously didn't give a damn. The heartbroken girl knew that if she had it all over to do again, whether her parents liked it or not, she would have dropped out of school, and spent that time with Rhonda, making the most out of what would be her mother's last lucid moments.

Hindsight is always twenty twenty, of course, the girl reflected downheartedly.

Soon enough, Courtney remembered sitting down with her mother for what would be one of the most important conversations she had ever had with her in her life, when her mother's health had really begun to quickly spiral downwards.

Her always prepared for any contingency mother asked her for three promises that day, and she wasn't going to be happy until she got them, but after Courtney thought about the way she acted that day, she wondered if she would be able to keep any of her pledges to Rhonda at all.

It was the fourth of July, and even though it was a holiday, Patricia Burman and her legal firm partner Lila Petersen came over to speak to her mother that day about business.

After a couple of hours or so "Aunt Patty" and "Aunt Lila" came out of the bedroom with their briefcases looking both exhausted and upset.

The tall, stocky woman with red eyes said nothing to her in that moment, but merely wrapped her powerful arms around her and held her tightly for a few moments. When she released her, Patty gave her a smile, an offer for help if it were needed, then left walking slowly away, looking as if she were wiping under her eyes.

Lila, who had been extremely kind to Courtney, but also annoyingly constipated with sunshine; the girl thought, always tried to look on the bright side no matter what. True to form, the kind woman told her everything would be okay, and no matter what may transpire, to please have faith.

Courtney didn't fail to notice, however, that Lila's eyes turned downwards as she left to follow her friend Patty out the door.

It was four o'clock, and Courtney had medicine in a cup for her mother and a glass of cold apple juice for her to drink. The sweet juice helped to mask the bitterness of the pills her mother seemingly lived on, and little else.

She hadn't been in to see her mother that day yet, so when she walked into the room, the smell of disinfectant and perfume was overpowering almost. The two reluctant lovers battled against each other, made up, then conceived a bastard child of fruity smelling bleach. It wasn't the worst odor she had ever had up her nose, but it still took some getting used to.

"Here, Mom, it's time for your medicine." The loving girl said as she helped her mother rise to take them while placing a pillow behind her head so she wouldn't have to support the weight of it. Rhonda was all too ready for them, she quickly downed the yellow and blue white banded pills, and somehow she managed to get the much larger pink one down her throat too. She used to joke and ask her or her father to bring a plunger to help force it down, but the joke and now her poor mother were just too tired.

Courtney was more than just a little curious as to why Lila and Patty were there, but by the look in her mother's dull eyes, and the urgency that they pierced her in, she was going to find out.

Rhonda took a moment to look at her sweet daughter, wondering how she was going to start the conversation she needed to get over with before she lost her heart, but after a few minutes of rumination, she opted for a business like approach, at least in the beginning.

"I've already spoken to your father about this, and now I want to tell you." Rhonda reached out for the hand of her daughter, wanting to hold onto it for much longer than she knew she would be able. "You're not a little girl anymore, almost an adult, and you can handle this." The girl sat by the small hospital bed that had been bought for her mother to rest in, taking in what the sick woman had to say.

After taking a breath that ended with a sigh, Rhonda informed authoritatively, "I've decided to not go back for any more treatments, Courtney."

The young girl felt the blood drain from her face. "Mom,"

Rhonda held up her hand. "Please let me finish." The good girl dutifully obeyed, but she didn't want to hear it. "The cancer has spread, and my treatments aren't doing me any good, Darling, actually, they're making me more miserable than I would be if I didn't take them, Sweetheart."

Courtney knew what was coming, because when her mother had bad news or something she didn't want to hear, Rhonda always softened the blow with designations of affection.

Rhonda took a breath as Courtney took her hand, and the thin woman was upset to see teary eyes meet hers. "But, Mom," The girl begged, "You can't quit, you can beat it if you keep taking the treatments." In desperation she added emphatically, "There's still, always hope, Mom, you,"

Rhonda, grateful for her child's loving care, shushed her, "People go when it's their time, and believe me, My Love, there are far worse things in this world than dying."

The resigned woman raised thin, cold, blue oxygen starved fingers to brush the tears away from Courtney's cheeks; in turn the girl took them into her hands, and pressed them to her neck in the attempt try to warm them. As she did, Courtney desperately tried to think of something she could say to convince her mother to change her mind, even though she knew that it was already made up.

All Courtney could squeeze out of her chilled throat was, "Does daddy know?"

The girl remembered the tear that her mother fought to keep from coming from her eye when she nodded in the affirmative. "What did he say?"

Rhonda held Courtney's hand a little tighter and said, "He respects my wishes, Darling."

Courtney's heart plunged, and she couldn't believe her father had done that!

How could he give his wife, her mother permission to just give up and leave them like that?

Rhonda dragged Courtney away from her black questions with what her mother obviously thought was a reasonable request, "I want you to be okay with it too, 'Court." The girl said nothing in that moment as her mother searched her daughter's eyes, and stroked her face with her loving hand.

A bony hand that looked like it was attached to a toothpick.

Courtney knew that her mother shouldn't, or couldn't endure an argument over something she had clearly made up her mind to do, so the dutiful girl closed her eyes, and moved her face away from her mother with a nod.

She could lie so her mother could have peace, couldn't she?

Rhonda continued her talk with her daughter, wanting to tell her everything that she needed to know while she was coherent enough to be both taken seriously and believed. The cancer she had was virulent, had already invaded her lungs, and would most likely go to her brain too.

As a result, Rhonda knew that she was not going to be able to take care of her estate, or anything else for much longer, and had feverishly been getting all of her affairs in order in preparation of that fact. It was certainly timely, that much was certain, because her oncologist told her during her last appointment that she had less than a month to live; and would in all likelihood pass away not knowing she was in the world.

The Lord truly was merciful.

"I need you to listen to me, 'Court." Rhonda instructed as the girl sat on the edge of her seat and intently paid the woman attention.

The first thing that Rhonda Gammelthorpe told her daughter was the shock of her life.

Courtney had already been asked to give her mother blessing to die that day, but dropping that in her lap too? God knew it was a surprise, and the truth of the real back story about the scar on her mother's face was a horrible shock, but it did explain a hell of a lot too.

Especially the pearls.

Until then, Courtney had always wondered why her mother was always so forgiving, and even cheerfully understanding about a lot of things that other women might have justifiably murdered their husbands for missing. For as long as Courtney could remember, her father had missed birthday parties, anniversaries, and more dinners, both casual and formal than Courtney dared to even think about counting because of his business.

Courtney had always wondered why her mother put up with his numerous absences, and also why she had tried to instill that same forgiveness in her when she had been sad, or infuriated with him, but now she understood. Rhonda begged, "Promise me, 'Court, that you will protect that, no matter what, because it is so important, more than anything else." Unselfishly, the dignified woman admitted, "Even me," She motioned downwards at her failing body, "And this."

The girl nodded. "I promise I will, Mom."

Rhonda looked relieved as she spoke again. "Now, I want you to promise me that you will follow your heart, do only what you want in life, and not settle for any less."

Courtney was not surprised with that particular favor that her mother had requested of her.

Many parents tried to mold their children into what they wanted them to be, but her mother and father were the exact opposite, and always strove to encourage her interests and positive skills.

"I know music is not traditionally lucrative unless you're lucky, but it makes you happy, My Love, and it is your God given talent. To squander your gift for the sake of money would be a travesty of the highest degree." Courtney's eyes welled at her mother's praise, it wasn't that she didn't hear it often, but still it made her happy that her mother was pleased with her as she continued speaking, "We've had a trust set up for you so that you will be able to do whatever what you want in case something happens to your father before you turn eighteen years old. It was Thaddeus' idea to do, and he was right to suggest it. That is one of the reasons why your aunties Lila and Patty were here, for me to sign the papers, as your father signed them first."

Courtney's eyes widened as her mother expounded, "You're not a fool, and I have to say that you're more intelligent than a lot of adults your father and I know." Rhonda took a breath, and prepared her girl for a bit of a shock, "As of right now, Courtney, there is enough money for you to live comfortably for the rest of your life, and you can access all of it whenever you want, free and clear. We both know you will be responsible with what we've given you, but we not only want you to use this money for school, but to also enjoy life. Your father and I want you to travel, and fix up Tracks the way you want him to be." Rhonda presented copies of the papers she and her father signed, looked at the notary public signature, and was reeling.

She couldn't even wrap her mind around the amount that she was reading.

Rhonda continued, "When your father passes, everything else that is left goes directly to you since you are our remaining child. All of the property, that includes this house and the one at the beach, stocks, mutual funds, bonds, and the rest of the money are contained in a separate trust that has you listed as Thad's sole heir and executor." She tried, but Rhonda couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice when she added, "That has been done so that you won't be taxed, and that none of your father's family can dream of contesting your inheritance." Rather proud of both hers and Curly's foresight, Rhonda added, "Every possible loophole has been sealed too, so a problem with them will not even be an issue for you later on."

Before Courtney could ask about her dad's extended family, and why her mother seemingly had even less use for them than her father did, Rhonda added, "As for what you're holding in your hand now, " The woman took a breath and looked deeply into her daughter's eyes. "I want you to give me your word that you will follow whatever dreams you have, no matter what."

The girl nodded. "I promise."

The brave woman reached to the side of the bed and collected a long, slender felt box that held her greatest, most valued material treasure. She weakly tried to open it, but her fingers wouldn't let her because they were numb with cold, so Rhonda was forced to present the box to her beloved daughter closed without the benefit of the dramatic, fashionable reveal she would have relished.

Courtney, despite the fact that she knew all too well what it was, opened it, and tears welled in her eyes.

The heartbroken child didn't want to accept it.

If she did take the painfully beautiful object, that truly meant everything was final, set in stone, and there would be no going back.

"As you well know, Darling, this necklace belonged to my grandmother, Nicole, whom I loved very much." Courtney nodded as her mother continued, "I pass it on to you now, 'Court."

Rhonda had a fond smile on her face when she remembered, "Against her better judgment, your great grandmother allowed me to play with these when I was a little girl."

Courtney smiled as tears streamed down her face. "And you used to let me play with them against yours."

Rhonda had to smile. "I was so glad that my little tomboy had an interest in them, actually." The woman said as she stroked her beautiful daughter's cheek. "I was more or less obligated to allow you to play with them, Dearest." The dying woman joked as she lovingly swept warm tears away from Courtney's cheeks with her cold fingers.

"Just remember, Beloved, that strand is valuable, but it isn't the monetary aspect of the necklace that makes it so, but its history, and what it means."

Courtney took the strand of pearls and allowed them to flow through her fingers. "I know, Mom, and I promise that I will take good care of them."

Rhonda nodded and asked another boon, "Can you possibly find it in your heart to forgive me for making you go to dancing lessons when you were little? I know that you hated them with a passion." Rhonda had a knowing lilt on her voice as she finished, "As well as me for making you go."

Courtney burst out into loud laughter as she wiped her cheeks and said, "I didn't hate you for it, Mom." Rhonda gave her daughter a look, and Courtney finished, "I just wasn't happy with you over it for a while." Despite the overall melancholy mood of their conversation, Courtney managed a heartfelt laugh, "Of course I forgive you, but only if you forgive me for being such a brat about the dancing lessons too."

"It's a deal." Rhonda said as she laughed too, but more quietly as she continued, "Even though you weren't nuts about them, just remember the advice my grandmother gave me, that I told you. It's the truth, you know."

Courtney had a funny half smile on her face while she held up her hand as if taking an oath. "I solemnly swear that I won't marry a man who can't dance," The girl corrected herself, "At least who doesn't any worse than I do." The girl wondered if she should, but since they were being candid with one another, Courtney continued with mischief on her voice, "I will also wait for a man good enough to get a tattoo of his name on my bottom for."

Rhonda shook her head with a smile. "Now, that will do, Wise Guy." Rhonda said in a guarded tone, "I never dreamed that you'd ever see that."

Courtney laughed at her mother deciding to not add any more wood to the fire.

"You know," Rhonda said with a lilt, as her eyes trailed away to a time that she relished, "Love rears its quirky little head in the most surprising of places, My Dear." Rhonda gripped the hand of her beautiful child tighter, and thought of at least three examples right off the top of her head that would prove that fact, but she chose to be selfish and use her own experience as a guide.

"Sweetheart, I can tell you one thing right now, if anyone had told me I'd wind up married to your father, I would have told them they needed to up their dosage." The sick woman said with twisted humor as Courtney laughed. "I must admit however, that having fallen in love with your father has been one of the most wonderful experiences in my life." The woman said with a tear running down her cheek into her ear as she reached upwards and gently stroked the cheek of her beautiful daughter, "Having babies with him was too."

Courtney nodded, and wiped the tear away from her mother's cheek. She never mentioned him much, but Courtney's brother was an aching hole in her mother's heart that never went away. Rhonda held herself responsible for the infant's death, even though she was completely blameless. Despite the fact that there was absolutely nothing that could have done about it at all, every day of her mother's life, Artillery was on her mind, and Courtney knew that it tormented her.

Getting back to a topic that she felt needed discussing, Rhonda theorized, "Sometimes to love, Courtney, you must also forgive." Raising a thin index finger to accentuate her point, she added, "Always remember that people do change, Darling, and sometimes it is for the better."

Courtney gave the woman a strange look as Rhonda in turn smiled at her strangely, it was as if her mother knew something that she didn't, but for the life of her she had no idea who she was talking about.

Rhonda regarded her child's searching expression thinking of a little boy she once knew.

With the passage of time, of course, that little boy was now almost a man, and as of late had taken to slipping around the outskirts of her lovely daughter's life to peer inside.

He was as resourceful as his mother Helga, Rhonda had to hand him that, as he found sneaking ways to look in at Courtney through the window where she worked, cheer for her at sporting events, and ogle at her through the fence of their property when she was with her in the rose garden without detection.

Then again, old habits were hard to break.

Courtney surely couldn't remember, but Rhonda and Helga thought they would have to pry the two kids apart with a crowbar to get them separated when they were toddlers.

Rhonda smiled and took Courtney's hand. "So always keep your heart and mind open, 'Court, even if both are hurting a bit when it comes to love." She released Courtney's hand, and placed hers on her daughter's chest, relishing the warm thump underneath it. "No one can get into that beautiful heart of yours if you keep it closed off, Love."

Rhonda ended with a lilt as she raised her blushing daughter's chin, so that she was looking into her eyes once more. "And when you find the one who was meant to be in that wonderful place, and you two ever have a little girl to pass those pearls on to, Nicole Rhonda is a kick ass name if you're stumped on what to call her."

Courtney gave her mother an incredulous look. "Shameless self promotion, Mrs. Gammelthorpe?"

Rhonda lifted her palms weakly in a half shrug. "Hey, I'm just sayin'."

The two sat for a good half hour enjoying each others' company in comfortable silence with their fingers laced together watching television. Rhonda felt that she had gotten a lot of good accomplished with her daughter, as well as said everything that she needed to, but she had one last favor to ask of her child, and it needed addressing.

Rhonda Wellington Lloyd Gammelthorpe had finished grieving her death months ago, now she was looking forward to the release of it, and wanted to give the same relief to her beautiful baby girl.

Rhonda didn't look at her daughter when she asked, but requested during a joke on a sitcom,

"The last thing I wish for you to do for me is that when I am gone, Darling, please don't be upset. I don't want to you grieve. Promise me that you will not be upset when I die."

It took a few moments for Courtney to comprehend the gravity of what her mother had asked of her. Hating herself for it, when the pre-recorded laugh track played and a non-existent audience clapped in the background, Courtney dutifully lied, "I promise, Mom."

Rhonda exhaled a relieved breath, and looked the most peaceful she had in weeks. She had done everything she could for Thad, Courtney, made peace with God, and with all the other people she loved; and felt she had wronged.

All there was left to do now was the wait for the inevitable.

The dutiful daughter watched the ill woman's body relax as much as it would as Rhonda slowly drifted off to a fitful sleep under the influence of the medication, Courtney still holding her hand, holding out for a miracle.

* * *

Time went on and her mother got sicker, weaker, and less able to take care of herself.

Rhonda tried to not complain, or let anyone know how much pain she was in, but an observer with a shred of sense and eyes could see it.

The medications her mother received every six hours did very little to kill the pain she endured, most of the time all the pills served to do was make her mother intoxicated to the point of slurring her speech, drool, and uncomfortably constipated.

Then her grandmother, who was grasping at the last straws of hope, got the brainstorm of an idea to get the church to do a healing ceremony for Rhonda. That joke consisted of lying on of hands, and anointing her mother with blessed oil.

Her mother was not fit for such a thing, being as sick as she was, but seeking to please her mother, she went along with it.

The ceremony was supposed to give hope, but all it served to do in Courtney's point of view was make a horrible situation even more depressing, and make her resent her grandmother Brooke for putting her terminally ill daughter through it.

Added to the farce of it all, the ceremony wasn't uplifting at all, but sounded more like a funeral for the recipient so that she wouldn't miss anything after she died.

Actually, it was less like a religious ceremony, but rather more like a carnival side show, and her mother was the exhibit, and as people passed by single file touching her mother, Courtney wondered if they had bought tickets at the front door.

As the ceremony stretched out at a dirge-like pace, her mother got weaker by the moment, eventually becoming barely able to keep herself sitting up. Courtney remembered looking at her father, wanting him to do something, anything to make the people in the sanctuary shut up so they could take her mother home. Instead, her impotent father sat in silence, twisting a piece of white paper in his hands, cutting them until they bled without even realizing it.

It wasn't long after that nightmare Saturday that matters became much worse.

Courtney thought that she had seen bad with falls induced by weakness in conjunction with morphine, legs so swollen they wept, and the hallucinations of imaginary blood and insects that she had to wipe off her hands and face at her drug hazed mother's insistence. No doubt all of those things were bad enough, but they were only the tip of the iceberg, and their collective ride through hell had only just begun.

Consuela and some of the other staff members volunteered their break time to help with Rhonda all they could, but added to their regular duties, and her mother's growing dependence, they were all soon overwhelmed. Eventually her father hired a nurse from a commercial nursing agency in town to stay with her mother, and tend to her needs during the day while she was at school, and he was at work.

Doing just enough work for her mother to scrape by, all the fifty dollar an hour nurse seemed to be adept at doing was channel surfing and raiding the refrigerator. However, it wasn't until some of her mother's pain medications started getting missing that she was let go. Another nurse was hired, and she seemed to be decent and hardworking, but after that first experience, Courtney never trusted another one of them alone with her mother again.

As a consequence, after school and track, Courtney would race home as fast as she could so that she could take care of her mother herself. Most of the time her father managed to be home an hour before she had to go in to work, so she could take care of her needs until then until he arrived to take over.

Courtney wished that her grandmother Brooke would help out more, but she just couldn't seem to handle what was happening to her daughter, so she hid from it in denial maybe visiting once or twice a week, with every visit trying to convince herself and everyone else that her mother was going to eventually get better, but wound up being most of the time, in the way.

Nearly stretched to her limits, Courtney would bathe her mother, empty the toilet chair, change the hospital bed, and beg God for a miracle as the days became longer and her mother got sicker and less coherent.

She also learned unfortunately just who real friends were and who weren't at this time too.

Very few people from the country club visited her mother, which hurt. The people who were always ready to glad hand, or cheerfully chap their lips on her mother and father's backsides for baby shower gifts, wedding presents, or monetary donations to their favorite charities certainly didn't bother to come see her mother while she was dying.

Learning a harsh lesson about how cruel people could be without really trying, Courtney supposed that their mother's usefulness to them was at an end, so they just threw her away for greener grass elsewhere.

Even worse, her mother's extended family didn't give a damn about Rhonda either. Her mother had even gone as far as to call some of them when she was more lucid to speak to them. Never answering in person, she always left messages on their machines, but none of them could be bothered to return a dying woman's phone call.

The father and Sister St. Ledger of their church would come and visit her mother every so often and pray with her.

They always left with a smile and a check.

On the way out they'd always tell the girl in lofty tones to never fear, and that God had a plan. Courtney was sure that they meant well saying that, but it was so condescending to her ears too.

It was like they were trying to convince themselves more than her.

Courtney always had the question on the tip of her tongue to ask them what in the hell kind of plan did God possibly have for her mother to suffer unimaginable pain, and waste away to nothing? She would never ask that though, because it was disrespectful, and would shame her parents, but she sure as hell thought it plenty.

But for as many users, and careless people, there was an equal amount of good people who showed that they genuinely cared about Rhonda, that they were true friends, so Courtney and her father were grateful for them.

The family attorney, Patricia Burman, her mother's best friend, came to see her almost every day when she got worse.

Courtney wished that she had a best friend like her, hell a friend at all.

Doctor Shortman and her husband would come to the house regularly to visit her mother and father. Courtney had no feelings about Gertrude, their daughter; who was in French club with her who had come along with her parents once. They made small talk with each other, eventually falling into silence as they watched television with an untouched bowl of popcorn and barely sipped sodas separating them, but the grudge holding girl was grateful that her brother Miles never came to darken their door.

The school nurse who helped her that day, Sheena, and her husband Eugene would come and visit too. They made Rhonda laugh, which was breathtakingly nice to hear other than the din of the television or silence.

Park, Katrinka, Park Junior, and Jeneane would come see her mother too, they did everything they could for her mother and father to help, but Park ran Fung Chong's, and Katrinka a huge animal hospital, so their time was evenly divided between keeping their business running. They couldn't come visit often, but at least they tried, really cared, and that was all that mattered to Courtney.

Lastly, the man and woman who owned the small diner where she worked, "The Sugar Shack" would bring food to the house for them; they would send food home with Courtney when her shift was over. As it turned out, her mother loved the warm banana pudding with browned meringue on top that was a specialty of the house, so her employers always made sure that Courtney took some of that home with her if nothing else. The almost too sweet confection seemed to be one of the few things that she and her father could coax her mother into eating without too much resistance.

More time wore on, and eventually the day Courtney knew was inevitable at long last came. Her mother was taken to Hospice because home nurses, her father, and she could no longer care for her at home properly.

Rhonda had been checked in on a Tuesday morning of that week, and she checked out four days later.

The last day her mother was in Hospice, it was a hot August night and Courtney remembered walking past the outdoors smoking area and nodding to the people hovering around the ashtray.

The girl thought that an ashtray at Hospice was somewhat ironic, but vices were terrible things for people to absolve themselves of.

She didn't like to think on it, but it was true, at the end; her own mother was a morphine addict.

The only differences between the street drugs school had taught her to say 'no' to for years, and the drugs her mother had been taking; were quality, governmental legality, and a doctor's prescription.

Even worse, the pills towards the end of Rhonda's stay at home didn't do much for the pain, it took going to Hospice and getting an IV drip of morphine did she get any real relief, and that was through becoming nearly comatose.

Sometimes during the stay there, her mother would awaken and understand where she was, more frequently though; she'd be out of it which was a blessing as far as Courtney could tell.

That last night her mother rallied, and asked for Thad, but her father was of course nowhere to be found, as usual. Courtney called his office, secretary, cellular phone leaving multiple voice mails, beeper, and had even thought of driving around town looking for him. In lieu of that last option, she gave up on the idea of trying to locate her father, opting to stay in the room with her mother and grandparents to help keep the last vigil over her mother.

Soon after, the nurse walked into the room and placed something in a needle through the tube that lead to her arm to relax Rhonda, and to ease her discomfort more as the family priest delivered the Last Rites.

Never having been exposed to death like that before, it was so strange watching her mother die, and the torn girl stewed in a mix of wanting Rhonda to draw another breath to live while also hoping that the same breath would be her last.

Courtney felt so terribly ashamed for it, but her poor mother had suffered enough, and it was selfish to want her to stay.

Courtney wanted to hold her mother's hand in her last moments, but Brooke was sitting in a chair blocking both her, and everyone else from the bedside refusing to move, so she was forced to stand in a distant corner and observe.

Ever since that night, Courtney had harbored bitter feelings towards Brooke for it, but in that moment of blazing truth, under the warm, bright sun in the middle of the stone cropped cemetery, Courtney realized that she wasn't the only person who had lost her mother.

True, she was Rhonda Wellington Lloyd Gammelthorpe's daughter, and nothing or no one could ever take the fact of that away from her, but despite that, Courtney realized that she didn't have the right to own her mother's memory solely to herself, but had an obligation to share in it with everyone else who ever loved her too.

She was wrong for resenting her grandmother.

Rhonda was Brooke's child, she had given birth to her; and if anyone at all needed to be by her mother's side most of all that night, it was Brooke.

It wasn't until that moment that the girl had an epiphany that made her realize just what she had done.

Tears rolled down her cheeks in shame as she covered her mouth and thought about her heartbroken father, and how profoundly her mother's death had affected him.

Courtney found that she was so wrapped up in her own grief, and blaming him for something he didn't even do, that his feelings of loss weren't even a consideration.

As such, Courtney pondered herself, unable to move with more tears brimming in her eyes. It had to be unbelievably painful the devastation that her father had to have felt since her mother had become sick, much less after her death, and Courtney began to wonder how she came to be so mean spirited, selfish, cruel, and short sighted.

Yes, she had lost her mother, and that was heartbreaking, but her father had lost his greatest friend, confidant, wife, and lover, all in one tortuously long, cruel fell swoop.

As the regretful girl pondered what kind of person she really was, and was beginning to think that the worst of it was true, Courtney felt coolness on her shoulders. The hurting girl turned to look upwards, and standing above her was her wonderful, caring father.

Making out Thad's face out through blurry, un-glassed eyes, she watched as he slowly knelt, his familiar grey green colored eyes meeting hers. There was no anger or disappointment in the features of her long suffering father's kind, forgiving face, but merely two outstretched, comforting arms that begged her to fling herself into them, and Thad's only living child accepted his generous offer wholeheartedly.

The girl almost sent the sorrowful man to the ground with her powerful catapult into his embrace as she folded her arms around him. Sobbing with shame, Courtney begged her father of something that she didn't know he could grant or not, "Oh, Daddy, I am so sorry! Please, please, please forgive me!" The girl wept as tears soaked into his shirt, and he held her tightly.

Thad brushed his daughter's hair back from her eyes, kissed her forehead, and asked in ignorance, "For what, Princess?"

The girl admitted, "For hating you for telling mom it was okay to stop her treatments, and for not being there when she died! It wasn't fair to you, not at all, and I've been so awful to you!"

Thad rocked his girl and gently stroked her hair, "No, you were right in being angry for my not being there." The man's heart almost tore with guilt. "I should have been there, you were right. Can you forgive me?" The man asked looking downwards, fighting tears that were conceived out of the guilt that had been growing inside his heart for close to a year.

The girl shook her head. "No, no, _no_!" Courtney pulled his chin up, and made her father look her straight in the eyes, so that he would know she was telling the truth. "You were doing what mom wanted you to do. She told me she didn't want her illness to interfere with it, that what you were doing was so much more important than she was!" Courtney floored her father with the revelation of, "And she was right, Dad, so right! If you were with her that night, instead of out, those people could have,"

Upon hearing Rhonda's unknown blessing, Thad cut his daughter off with a strangling hug and tears as he cradled her head in his hand and her face against his strong shoulder, "Thank you, Courtney! Oh, thank you so much!" By then the strong man was sobbing himself, his own grief too much to bear. "You don't know what that means to me to have you tell me that!"

Courtney stroked her father's back in the effort of trying to comfort him as she desperately thought of ways to prove to him her love and belief in him. After a few moments of calming down, the resolved girl took a breath, and steeled herself to tell her father something, she had to so that he would understand what she meant.

It wouldn't be pleasant, but it would renew their covenant together. "Mom told me what really happened that night."

All the blood drained from Thad's face as he exhaled a shuddered breath, because that one terrible night was the lowest he had ever sunk in his entire life.

Thaddeus had lost complete control of his temper, almost doing something so horrible, unthinkable, and unforgivable.

What no single man had any right to do.

Despite the passage of time, the regretful man still felt shame for what he did, and now his daughter knew the terrible, violent actions that his baser side was capable of allowing him to commit.

Why in God's name did Rhonda tell her that?

Before Thad could explain himself, his daughter, despite the wrongfulness of it, exonerated his actions, "You weren't right, Daddy, but I understand why it happened. I would have done it too. Anybody decent would have." Thad sighed as Courtney continued wiping under her nose with her hand, "Mom understood how important it was, enough to ask me to help you, and I was the one who almost destroyed it all today."

The girl cried more as Thad comforted her. "But you didn't, 'Court, you were the angriest with me you've ever been in your whole life, and you still didn't."

The girl looked to the side, and quietly admitted, "Sometimes I didn't want to take care of mom." Thad gripped Courtney more tightly as she admitted guiltily, "I was selfish, and had things that I wanted to do." The girl sighed, "I was angry that you weren't there to help sometimes, even though you couldn't, then when she died, I took out my anger with myself on you."

Thad stroked his hand underneath his daughter's chin and made her look at him. "That's normal, Courtney, you took on a whole lot more than you should have, many kids would not have done what you did at all. You were very unselfish because you did everything you could to take care of your mom. You don't have a thing in this world to regret when it comes to that."

The girl took a tissue that her father offered her and blew her nose loudly. As he did he looked at the neat rows of headstones in the distance, then two red roses that decorated the last two graves next to the oak tree near them, only to have his attention taken away by his child's apology, "I'm sorry I embarrassed you at school today too, Daddy." Quietly, Courtney added, "I know you're disappointed in me."

Thad shook his head, he couldn't say that he was exactly proud of the way that his daughter had acted, nor could he make an excuse for it, but he could understand too, "It's okay. There's nothing to forgive there on my part, and you could never disappoint me, Princess." The judicious father did say, however, "You do know that it was wrong though, what you did and said today, and you're going to have to own up to the responsibility of your actions, go apologize to the Principal; and you're probably going to be punished."

The girl merely nodded. "I guess I should apologize to Miles Shortman too."

Thad looked at his girl with an upturned eyebrow. "I didn't have too big a problem with you there, Sweetie." Thad looked upwards when he added with a sniff, and the beginnings of a smile. "He's been an _incredible_ horse's ass."

Courtney looked at her father incredulously. "I threw my book bag at him, hit him a couple of times, and told him I wished he was both dead and in hell, Dad!" Courtney confessed, "When in actuality, it will be me who goes to hell for what I said about there being no God."

The man shook his head and smiled and placed his hands on Courtney's shoulders. "'Court, people say all kinds of things when they're upset, and they don't mean it." He theorized truthfully, "Believe me, Kiddo, with all the people I've met over the course of my life, I can tell you with all the certainty in the universe that you are not going to hell."

He felt like a hypocrite when he said it sort of, but Thad sighed and offered Courtney some advice. "As far as Miles Shortman goes," He rolled his eyes upwards, "I can't believe that I'm saying this, but please try to forgive him a little for being such a jackass." Thad exhaled and admitted, "To a certain extent he can't help himself."

Still mad at Miles, but surprised at her father's tenuous support of him, she stated, "Daddy, Miles has free will." Courtney asked incredulously, "Why can't he help it?"

Thad answered in what he felt was absolute truth, "Well, Miles is his mother's child, and despite the dilution, I think that he still has a good percentage of that stubborn Pataki blood coursing through his veins."

The girl moved her red, swollen eyes upwards to scan her father's face in a quandary, and his lips met her forehead. "Pataki, Dad?"

Thad had more than enough of death, and the gritty shadows of his dark past for the day, so he gently helped his daughter up from her sitting position on the green grass, hugged her a last time, put his arm on her shoulder, and the two began to slowly walk to his car.

Feeling like some levity was needed, and since any idiot could see what was coming, Thad decided to teach a history lesson.

Courtney needed all the help she could get anyway, because she had a blind date with destiny, and it had just ordered the lobster special with an extra cup of butter.

Thad cleared his throat and began to weave a strange story for his clueless daughter. "Once upon a time there was a little girl living here in the city, and she was the neighborhood bully.

Everyone was terrified of her because of her temper, but what a lot of people had no idea of, was that there was a lot better in the girl's heart than she would have ever wanted anyone to know."

When Thad noticed Courtney's strange look, he added, "Well, way back then, but she's out of the closet with her niceness now." Thad grinned at his daughter's expression as he continued, "Anyway, also living in the Hillwood neighborhood was a boy with a strange shaped head, and the girl in question constantly played pranks on, and made fun of him by calling him names."

Shaking her head, Courtney wondered, "Like what?"

Thad laughed, "Well, she would call him Yutz, Hair Boy; Paste for Brains, and Zygote, but her favorite thing to call him bar none was 'Football Head'."

Courtney looked at her father funny. "Football Head?"

Thad looked down at his daughter, "Yep. Now, what no one knew, was that the girl actually really loved the boy in secret, and,"

As Thad continued to regale his daughter with the fairy tale art that imitated life, he knew that it would at some point serve as a source of hope and a survival guide for her as they drove home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Arnold was created by Craig Bartlett and belongs to Viacom Inc. No infringement is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> The Peanuts character Charlie Brown was created by Charles Schultz, and is owned by United Features Syndicate. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> Transformers, the name "Tracks", and all other related character names and indicia belong to Hasbro Inc. and Takara Tomy LTD. of Japan. No infringement is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The best one liner I've ever heard in my entire life is the property of Mary Sue is Dead. 
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from the song entitled "Stormy" which was written by B. Buie, J.R. Cobb, and was performed by the group The Classics IV. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> This chapter has a tie-in story "Love Indelible" located in the "Like Mother Universe" story collection.


	4. Beautiful Mess

It was a successful trip the man mused as he loaded his last suitcase into the trunk of the small car he wisely left at the airport instead of the other one.

After a quick inspection of the car he did leave, someone who couldn't drive well, was thoughtless, in hurry, or all of the above, and had managed to put yet another blemish on the reliable old warrior's paint.

Arnold didn't really care so much about the damage, as the car had a rough life well before being parked in the airport lot, but to him it was more the principle of the thing.

Whoever put the long gouge down the entire side of the car knew they had done it, but didn't even have the courtesy to leave a note offering to repair the scratch, or the decency to at least tender an apology. He knew he'd have to get the small bottle of Kandy blue touch up paint out again; and make a painstaking mess as soon as he got home because bare metal was exposed and the car was rusty enough as it was.

As he rubbed his fingers over the irksome scratch a last time, his wife would have been fit to be tied and demanded the TSA investigate it, but Arnold figured that there was no need in getting angry over it, or reporting the damage either.

Truth be told, the grateful man was glad that at least it was that car instead of the Packard, and the scandalously red sports car affectionately known as "Jett" wasn't even an issue.

Blazing hot hell would freeze over before Helga let him leave her car anywhere unprotected and un-supervised for a whole week and a half. He couldn't blame her though; because he wouldn't dare leave the Packard in the airport lot either, but as much affinity as Arnold held for the old car he had inherited from Phil however, he still didn't take his care for the vehicle to the edge of religion like his late grandfather did.

Arnold knew that was one of the many reasons why Grandpa loved Helga so much; because they were both of the same minds when it came to cars. Both of them worshipped their mechanical gods in a zealot like fashion, and it was the common bond that cemented them to each other.

The two of them would detail their precious babies together in the back yard, and trade rides regularly.

Actually, Arnold sometimes thought that Helga rubbed her hands over the Corvette much more than she ever did him, actually.

As far as the newest scratch down the side of the fading blue car went, that was the least of its problems.

Having endured eleven years of benign abuse, the whole surface of the poor vehicle made it look like the last survivor of World War III, and it didn't get any better cosmetically when Gertrude and Miles began learning how to drive.

As a consequence of being driven by novices, the car had been crashed into chained garbage cans, a few construction barrels, an entire row of orange pylons, and the side of a big brown rusty dumpster in front of Green Meats while Harold Burman was having the inside renovated.

The most bizarre of all objects the car had plowed through though, was an entire flock of ducks near the pond at Tina Park, which only by the grace of God had managed to survive un-scathed, minus a few feathers of course.

The nervous father picked quills, pin feathers, and reptilian looking shed skin from the webbed feet of his regretful daughter's victims out of the upholstery for weeks after the incident.

After the unfortunate accident, people in the neighborhood, and a select few of her close friends called Gertie by the nickname Ducky if they felt she liked them enough to not kill them for it.

Unable to keep him off of it, Abner had also done his fair share of damage to the small blue car too; as he liked to sun on the hood, trunk, and roof. As a consequence, his cloven hooves had left scratches, not to mention dings and dents, so horizontal sections of the vehicle looked like an oversized Chinese checker board.

Last, but certainly not least, only God knew what Helga did in the helpless car when she was driving it alone. There were plenty of dents in the quarter panels that his wife had dubiously explained away as, 'parking lot damage' with that shit eating grin of hers.

If the way Ethyl drove her Corvette was any indication of what she might do in a car she cared nothing about, Arnold gathered that their Sentra saw more air time than the X Games with Helga behind the wheel, and her habit of accidental speeding could easily make her an Indianapolis qualifier.

In fact, Arnold didn't even want Helga to share in the duties of teaching Miles and Gertie how to drive until he had finished teaching his impressionable children the rudiments of good defensive, courteous driving.

His wife took the kids out to practice driving when he couldn't take the white knuckled stress anymore, but it was only as a last resort, because in Helga's driving school, there were not the clear cut lines of right and wrong that he had been dutifully teaching his children when it came to the rules of the road, but only shades of grey.

From Mrs. Motorhead's point of view, speed limits were nothing more than mere suggestions, a yellow light meant to speed up, and disagreements with fellow motorists could be easily settled with the finger next to the one that wore his wedding ring.

Even better, if the transgression of another driver were bad enough in Helga's eyes and she were angry enough, she wasn't above taking her hands off the wheel to display both of them.

Arnold didn't even want to ponder her unconscious swearing in heavy traffic, and wondered if that's where their daughter had picked up at least half of her foul lexicon from.

None of that mattered anyway at the moment, as more pleasant things came to the man's mind, and with a quick check of his watch, Arnold chuckled wickedly as he got into the car, and started the engine.

Helga was at work, the kids were at school, and he had plenty of time to indulge.

After the whirlwind week and a half of travel, and tedious meetings he had just endured, Arnold felt that he deserved some time there to relax, unwind, and get rid of some of the tensions that had been building by spoiling himself a little.

Besides, the man thought with a wicked smile, what Helga didn't know, certainly wouldn't hurt him.

With that last justification of his actions, so glad he was able to catch that early flight home, Arnold left the airport complex, and hit the interstate to rendezvous with his guilty, seductive pleasure.

It had been a rough day, and Helga was sitting at the kitchen table rifling through her collection of heavily stained cookbooks trying to think of a way to cheer her kids up.

Whenever she was feeling down or unhappy, Helga always crawled into the warm, loving arms of her favorite comfort food since she was a child, pastrami. After some thought, however, it was just too easy for her to go to the store and buy a couple of pounds of the succulent meat to merely fling a hoagie together for her family to share for dinner.

They deserved much better, and since she didn't screw breakfast up, Helga reasoned she could manage another dish cooked wholly from scratch that day, something that would show her family that she really loved and cared about them.

Hanging from the wall, the shiny, mostly unused ornaments beckoned to her like a long forgotten love, and as Helga looked above the gas stove at the large assortment of overpriced pots and pans that Eugene had hawked to her from his little sideline business, The Happy Chef Collection, figured she might as well get some use out of the damned things too.

Besides, after the day that they all had, nothing proved her devotion to motherly and wifely duty more than a homemade pot of the heartburn inducing comfort food enjoyed by her Hungarian ancestors, Goulash.

The loving woman got an ethnic food cook book given to her by her good hearted, extremely optimistic older sister Olga down from the shelf. After half-studying the recipe, Helga began rummaging through the freezer for ingredients brimming full of both goodwill and hope.

After finding what she thought were suitable replacements for original ingredients, Helga filled, then unceremoniously tossed a large stock pot on the stove, lit the burner, and began boiling water. As she peeled plastic wrap off of a pork shank she found in the bottom of the freezer, which with some scrutiny, could possibly be freezer burnt, Abner sat down by her foot; and looked up at his mistress with tiny black eyes that looked almost sentient, and blew out a judgmental snort.

"Don't look at me like that." Helga said hastily as she looked down, feeling somewhat guilty while pointing at the table and the all too familiar meat, "It's no one you know, and I have to use something."

The pig flopped down to the floor like an obese Roman emperor with a tiny grunt as Gertrude's cat sauntered into the kitchen and leapt effortlessly onto the kitchen table to cautiously sniff the frozen hunk of pork. After a questioning meow, Helga picked up the cat, gently placing it back down on the floor. "You know you're not allowed on the table, Chewie!"

With a disciplinarian tone she added, "Just because Arnold and Gertie let you slide with the rules, I'm not going to." The cat meowed again, but this time more plaintively while winding around the woman's legs, then turned to paw in her tiny empty bowl while looking upwards with a slightly louder howl. Not cajoled by the feline's debased display, Helga said, "Don't you start that either!" Authoritatively, she ended, "You're not getting any milk right now."

Helga continued to address the demanding animal as if it were a third child of hers and Arnold's that had done something incredibly naughty. "I found that elongated mound of hair and kibble that you left on the sitting room floor, by the way."

The disgusted housekeeper cocked an eyebrow at the brown, long haired cat. "I should have left it for Gertie to pick up, but it was wet, and I got it up instead." Studying the glaring feline, Helga advised, "It won't break your teeth to chew a little, you know."

The cat gave Helga another meow, but this time, melded with a purr, and it melted the kind woman's heart, making her want to cave, and give the cat some milk, but in the end she was firm, adding with a chiding air, "Could you barf up your hair and food tubes outside where there is no carpet in the future, please?" She observed, "Berber is hard enough to clean as it is."

Not caring to hear any of Helga's suggestions, the remorseless cat sat down next to the reclining pig, reared up, and began to knead her large, wide polydactyl paws on Abner's tiny teats and fat hairy stomach purring loudly.

Helga asked with mischief, "When did you two begin a relationship?"

* * *

It was two hours later, and Arnold was almost home.

He couldn't see out of the rear view mirror as he wound through the familiar streets of his hometown, but it didn't matter as he was driving slowly, and didn't need to do any major lane changing.

Arnold checked his watch with a smile, and he couldn't believe that he had wasted so much time with his illicit lover, but, time did tend to fly away quickly when one was having so much fun. At any other time he might be worried, but time was his plaything today as he was secure in the knowledge that no one was at home.

There certainly wasn't any reason for anyone to be home that early in the day, but he had called the house on the cellular phone just to be sure. To his delight, there wasn't a response, which was exactly what Arnold wanted as the voice mail recorder had come on to take his call.

Armed with that evidence the quick man basked in his cleverness, and Arnold was pretty sure he could get home and have everything that he had bought at the warehouse store hidden before his wife found out about it.

With all the stealth of a ninja assassin secreting his deadly arsenal in preparation of a messy job, he had stashes of toilet paper hidden all over the house in the basement, attic, garage, and the utility shed too. Arnold knew it irritated Helga to no end that he bought so much, but he didn't do it to simply exasperate her; she just didn't understand his reasoning.

His trip to San Lorenzo with its horrible third world toilets were a shocking wake up call for him, and complete opposite to the North American comforts of running water along with the out of sight, out of mind flushing that he was accustomed to.

Arnold had wrongly assumed that he had seen the zenith of inconvenience in having to use magazine pages, and newspaper to wipe with in river toilets, and evil, dark, stinking outhouses in the more populated areas. When he went out into the jungles with his father's old archaeologist friend, Eduardo, though, nature saw fit to show him a new trick or two, and had a good laugh at his expense while it was at it.

Arnold soon found that not only did he have to wipe with dry, itchy leaves, he also had to simultaneously, and quite literally watch where he was placing his butt while he dodged arachnids, dangerous mammals, and over one hundred various species of herpetological nightmares; such as pit vipers, elapids, and constrictors in the thick jungle deadfall of Green Eye territory.

Needless to say, the trip left an indelible impression in his mind, and it was not one of love in that respect.

Helga, who had not been to the wilds of Central America, didn't have the pleasure of getting paper cuts, leaf rashes, and nearly venomous snake bitten by a rare Fer-De-Lance all over her sweet, tiny little ass; so she didn't have the first clue about what he had endured down there when she was laughing at the recounting of his experiences.

Famous Mrs. Doctor Shortman could say whatever she wanted about her diagnosis of his "obsessive-compulsive" need to buy toilet tissue, but like the southern hell's belle Scarlett O'Hara who declared that she would never go hungry again, Arnold Shortman would never go without toilet paper again.

Well satisfied with his cleverness, Arnold looked in the rear view mirror and grinned widely at the comfortable stacks of soft white tissue that Helga wouldn't have a clue he bought, and then patted a gigantic plastic barrel full of pork rinds that occupied the passenger seat. It was as large as a toddling human being almost. Actually, he put the seat belt around the barrel in the parking lot of the warehouse store to keep it secure, and it was a good idea!

It kept the container from hurtling into the windshield then into the floorboard when he had to make an emergency brake for someone who drove exactly like his wife by cutting him off in traffic after giving him the finger.

Unfortunately, there was a casualty as one of the two gallons of mayonnaise he bought hit the glove compartment and dash so hard that it split down the side. That was okay though, they'd just have to use the cracked open one first.

As he watched the road and took furtive glances at the container, Arnold saw that he'd also have to pick some crumbs, a piece of paper with badly taken American History notes written on it, a candy wrapper, carpet lint, cat hair, pig hair, people hair, more damn duck down from seemingly nowhere, and a quarter of a red licorice stick out of it too.

Soon, with a warm rush of relief to be home, Arnold rounded the corner of 4040 Vine Street, happy to see the old house that he had a wonderful childhood in, and even better adulthood.

Pulling into the back driveway, Arnold reached upwards and pushed the garage door remote that was clipped onto the sun visor, and couldn't help but feel the giddy, satisfied rush of a miscreant who had gotten away with something naughty scot-free.

The confident driver pulled slowly forward as the garage door slowly rose, but when the door was high enough to reveal the contents of the bays, Arnold braked hard. As a result of the action, he had to push his bulky toilet paper back onto the rear seats, with cold fingers as the blood drained from his face.

The Packard was there, that was not unusual, but the Corvette was there too, which meant so was his wife.

"I swear she must've smelled it!" Arnold exclaimed with consternation as he looked upwards as well as he could towards the kitchen window. Thankfully however, he didn't see Helga anywhere in sight, and if she were in the kitchen, surely she'd wave at him out the window with the smile he had missed for over a week, at least until she saw what filled the backseat.

Hopefully she was in the master bedroom, which was on the other side of the house, and in that instant, the hopelessly optimistic man thought that he could perhaps have the car unloaded and everything he bought hidden before his judgmental wife saw any of it.

* * *

Inside the house, Helga watched with a wry smile backed a small distance away from the kitchen window with squinted eyes.

Her beloved was home much earlier than anticipated for some reason, and from the looks of it, Brawny had yet another hoard of toilet paper in the back seat.

As he quickly sped towards the garage only to stop short with a screech, presumably to conceal his purchases before she saw, Helga snickered and decided to give her sneaking husband time to get his guiltiest contraband hidden before going downstairs to aggravate him about it.

Abner, who heard the garage door opener turn on, trotted out of the pig/cat door towards the location of his favorite human leaving Helga to watch the clock on the wall. Instead of following Abner's cue, the generous wife decided to give her husband another five minutes to hide his toilet paper like Easter eggs.

After a fleeting forty seconds, a personal record, Helga could take no more, so she burst through the kitchen door, heading down to the garage in excitement; just because she had missed her Arnold so much.

With a streak of mean, Helga wanted to see just how resourceful her husband really was in a pinch anyway.

"Arnold?" Helga yelled out loudly, but brokenly halfway in between the house and garage as she walked towards it swiftly, barely able to keep from laughing, "Is that you, My Darling?"

In the garage, and a simultaneous panic, Arnold muttered his wife's favorite word, "Crap, crap, crap!" As he flung the packages of plastic wrapped club pack toilet paper into a metal storage locker in the corner of the garage. He had to pull some things out of it to make room, but he was able to get the displaced items hidden under the workbench with a kicking motion. With the dexterity of an award winning competition cup stacker, the sneaking man barely got the stack of tissue in the locker and the doors closed just as his widely grinning better half walked inside.

Arnold smiled, and wiped the growing dampness from his brow, putting his back on the cold, gray painted metal doors while crossing his arms trying desperately to look casual, and not like he was hiding something.

"Hey, Shortman." Helga said affectionately as she walked over to her well dressed husband with her arms spread wide. "I missed you so much, Sweetie, how did everything go?"

Arnold, who truly had missed his lovely wife, pushed himself off the metal locker hoping it would stay latched shut, and closed the gap between them to enclose Helga in a tight hug. "I missed you too, Shortman." After a much missed kiss, Helga withdrew, touching her grease covered lips, then inspecting her shiny fingers with a funny look on her face.

It was only then did Helga notice the smell of roasted chicken as Arnold continued, "Things went great, I signed the contract, and the book is going to print. I'll be gone some after the release though, because I have to do a tour of signings to promote it."

His wife had to scoff as she looked at the open doors of the car peering inside as she wiped her slick mouth with the heel of her hand. "I'm so glad you're making a buck off your life experiences."

Arnold shrugged, "I couldn't have written it without your torment, Ms. Pataki."

Helga's lips curled into an unbidden smile. "So that means I get half the royalties then, Paste for Brains?"

Instead of answering, the good doctor's improvising husband asked the obvious question in an underhanded way, so as to not lay his entire guilty endeavor out for scrutiny with a nervous grin, "So, ah, why are you home early, Sweetheart?"

Helga knew that she should have told Arnold what had happened concerning their children right away, but she decided to indulge herself a little bit, and toy with her husband instead.

Turning her back to him so that he wouldn't see her smile, Helga studied the pile of food in the floorboards of their vehicle, and as per ritual, she began to act like she was irritated with him as she ducked her head inside the small blue sedan. "I swear, Arnold, like a moth to the flame!" Helga shook her head and asked, "What is all this crap?"

The woman surveyed her husband's numerous purchases as she hoisted the items one by one out of the backseat, and stacked them on the cement floor of the garage. As Arnold turned his attention to the ceiling of the garage rubbing the back of his neck as she gave him incredulous looks, the curious blonde woman was not only shocked with the amounts of food her husband bought, but also the lack of connection.

Added to the half eaten rotisserie chicken in a black plastic pan that looked like a naked, headless prostitute spread eagle in an oily bed from a no tell motel, there were also three stacks of twenty pack shrimp flavored ramen.

In addition, Arnold had also managed to bring home two oversized containers of mayonnaise, a five pound bag of gummy bears, two oversized sacks of potato chips, one gargantuan black forest cake covered with chocolate shavings and maraschino cherries; ten pounds of raw hamburger packed into a clear plastic sleeve that looked like an impacted bowel, two seven pound bags of honey barbecue chicken wings, a tub of pork rinds that could feed a starving army, and oddly enough; a crate of no calorie diet soft drinks.

Wryly, Helga smiled, and asked the obvious, "You were hungry when you went, weren't you?"

The guilty looking man gave his wife an arms crossed defense. "I was running late this morning, so I didn't get breakfast, and all I had to eat on the flight back was a little piddling pack of those smoked almonds, and one of those tiny little nothing cans of soda." Arnold announced with the rest of his rickety argument, "Besides, it's not like we won't eat any of this stuff!"

The woman threw up her hands, "Where are we going to put all the frozen food? It won't go in the freezer in the house!"

Arnold stated the obvious, "In the freezer downstairs."

The woman shook her head negatively, "The freezer in the basement is full too."

"Of what?" Arnold asked incredulously.

The wry woman answered, "Well let's see, 'the Mud Bowl freezer' as you so affectionately call it is full of," Arnold looked upwards at the garage ceiling as the sarcastic woman sang the contents of the freezer like the Christmas carol 'The Twelve Days Of Christmas', "Twelve bags of buffalo wings, ten boxes of corn dogs, eight bags of fish sticks, six packs of weenies, four boxes of breaded mushrooms, three tubs of ice cream, two boxes of pepper poppers, and a dead gerbil on a bag of peas." The dutiful wife finished.

The man looked downwards in respect of Miles' pet that Gertrude's cat Chewie had killed and partially devoured. Arnold hadn't meant for the hapless gerbil to become an ad interim cryogenics project, and had honestly been meaning to bury its remains, but one thing or another had come up, and he never got around to it. With real regret, Arnold noted, "I forgot all about poor Frodo."

Helga rolled her eyes looking around herself, and upwards having no idea where he could have put it all so fast, hating to admit that Arnold was good.

Eying her husband, Helga asked, "Well, where is it?"

Arnold asked defensively with his arms crossed, "Where's what?"

Helga flung up her hands and declared, "The toilet paper, Arnold," The woman said with a pointed finger, "I know you bought some." In the corner of her eye, she saw the pet pig's flexible snout snuffling up and down around the storage closet doors.

The caught man just out and out lied about it with a guilty grin, "I did not!"

Helga sighed, put her hands on her hips, and gave him a look that told him she didn't buy a word of what he just said. "It's a good thing that you did buy some, because you're completely full of shit, Shortman."

Just as Arnold was about to make another emphatic declaration of innocence, the storage closet doors dislodged after Abner pawed at them. Then the couple watched the storage closet open as if by cesarean section, and with both humor and consternation, gaped in unison as it gave unwanted birth to three big plastic wrapped stacks of premium, triple ply, soft snow white toilet paper.

Helga relished the sound the packages made as they landed on the floor with a muffled flop and a well earned smirk as Abner retreated squealing, and Arnold glared at the porcine rat as it ran away from the scene of its betrayal into the yard.

Arnold hated it when his wife was right, especially when she gloated, so as a result, Arnold was forced to put his hand over his eyes in well feigned shame when he heard the vindicated woman ask with an accusatory tone, "So, you didn't buy any, huh?"

To tell the truth, she honestly didn't care that he had bought the toilet paper along with all the other items, but Helga was a woman; Arnold, of course was a man, so she had to aggravate the hell out of him over something because it was her sworn duty as a woman to do so.

Helga said with a lilt that was both humorous but an indictment as well, "It's a funny thing to me that you will buy toilet tissue in amounts that would make an obsessive compulsive curl up into a fetal position and weep, but you never seem to be able to put a roll of it on the spool when you use the last of it."

Arnold shrugged, clearly aiming to irritate his wife, "That's your job, Woman."

Helga cut her hot blue eyes at the man as he grinned wickedly, and her nostrils flared as she stacked the tissue up neatly. He wanted to get a rise out of her, and she would be damned if she gave Arnold the pleasure. With a surprisingly calm voice, Helga said, "Well we have enough for awhile, Honey," The exasperated woman sighed, "So now you can quit buying it for a couple of trips!"

"Helga," Arnold announced in a serious, dramatic tone, as if the fate of the world depended on his purchase, "You can never have enough toilet paper, and we'll use it all eventually!"

He further forwarded with what he felt was an ironclad excuse to have a government-like stockpile of tissue.

"What if we get diarrhea?" Thinking he had really made an excellent argument, Helga's scowl just being icing on the cake, Arnold followed with a satisfied tone, "You'd be glad to have plenty of my toilet paper then, wouldn't you?" He opened the gargantuan barrel of pork rinds by his foot and began greedily popping them into his mouth, despite the sickening topic.

The realistic woman grimaced, then exhaled a hard breath, "If we get mud butt that bad, Arnold, we'll all die!" Arnold's nose wrinkled as Helga added with a dismissive wave of her hand, "Besides, you're running out of places to hide your precious little ass-ets anyway." Arnold cut his eyes at her as she facetiously suggested, "Why not just go on ahead and build another shed in the back yard so you can put all of your toilet paper in one place?"

Helga only wanted to miff her husband with the sarcastic suggestion, but immediately regretted mentioning it when Arnold's eyes lit with an unnatural brightness, and his jaw dropped as if he had just heard the most visionary idea ever thought of in the entire history of mankind.

Helga's eyebrows lowered, and she held up her index finger in a point while seriously admonishing, "Don't even think about it."

Despite the valid threat, Arnold still was thinking about it as Helga looked up and down at the toilet tissue.

Stacked vertically, the wide packs were almost as tall as she was. Giving up, Helga then turned her attention to the two full gallons of the delicious emulsion on the floorboard of the passenger side of the car with a disparaging point. "And no one living on the face of this earth needs two gallons of mayonnaise!"

Arnold theorized, "Southern people do." When Helga shot him a look, the man flung up his arms in justification. "It was on clearance, and a really good deal!"

Helga picked up the greasy, but un-broken gallon of the white condiment, looked at the expiration date, and said in shock, "This goes out next week, Football Head!"

This whole affair was getting pretty good, Arnold thought. Helga's eyes were wide, her eyebrows were turned downwards, and she had unconsciously called him 'Football Head', he figured that it wouldn't be too long before she was pissed off at him for real.

Always looking for the positive in any situation, his clever mind turned, and Arnold reasoned that perhaps if they argued, he'd get make-up lovin' early instead of having to wait until later that evening.

Shooting for the stars above, the amorous man grinned widely as Helga asked hypothetically, "How in the world are we supposed to eat two gallons of mayonnaise in a week?"

"Like this." Arnold said simply as he tore the safety seal off of the cracked container, pulled off the top, and scooped a porous pork rind through it.

The massive clot like glop of mayonnaise on the already greasy pork rind shivered like a Hawaiian hula dancer as he placed it in his mouth whole and began to chew. To guarantee a comment from Mrs. Shortman, Arnold stuck out his covered tongue at her.

"Good God, that's revolting!" Helga exclaimed as she put her hand on her mouth, and grimaced, "Why don't you just shove a wet towel in your arteries? You'll die easier, not to mention faster."

Her smart aleck guffawing husband's response to that query was to feed Abner a mayonnaise covered pork rind. "That is so not right, Arnoldo." Helga said to the cackling man as the pig put both its front feet on Arnold's leg, begging for more of the disgusting cannibalistic snack in a disturbingly enthusiastic manner.

As her husband laughed loudly, Helga scowled at him, because the love of her life was evidentially doing the best he thought he could to push her into a pointless argument.

Helga wasn't a fool, though, and had astutely gathered that Arnold probably thought that if they argued and made up, she'd make love to him now instead of later.

Knowing quite well how to put a nice little damper on that idea mighty quick, Helga asked, already knowing the answer, "While you were there, did you at least manage to pick up some,"

Before Helga could finish her sentence, Arnold's face contorted, and he declared, "I love you, Honey, but am not buying those things!"

Helga's eyes rolled upwards as she put her index finger and thumb on her left temple and began to massage it, all the while wondering what an aneurism felt like. "After all the junk that you dragged home that we didn't even need, you didn't get the very thing that we do need?"

Arnold shook his football shaped head, "What if the checkout person thinks those," The man twirled his hands in front of him in clear discomfort, "Things are for me?"

Helga rolled her eyes and exhaled sarcastically, "Oh, yes, Arnold, I am SO sure that the checkout person would be mistaken in thinking those were really for you." She forgot what Arnold was truly capable of when she absentmindedly remarked, "You don't even have anywhere to put them!"

Arnold thought for a moment, and after some creative pondering actually stumbled upon a place.

The naughty man opened his mouth to forward a theoretical free space, but before he could; his wife held up her hand for the second time that day, and conceding defeat in the argument over fluffy cotton attached to a string, Helga raised the white flag of surrender by saying, "I don't even want to know what's rattling around in that weird shaped head of yours!"

Arnold grinned, and ended with a dirty wink, "You sure?"

Keeping in mind what Rhonda and Thad's daughter had suggested to the principal that day, Helga said with a face in twisted irritation, "Oh!" as the chuckling man stacked and arranged his non-spoiling purchases, leaving the irate woman to find room in the over full garage refrigerator and freezer racks to temporarily store the hamburger, cake, and chicken wings.

As Helga did, fuming the entire time, Arnold asked one of the first phrases every male over the age of two learns to ask a female.

It's not that they're actually really worried when they ask, it just sounds good.

"Are you mad at me, Honey?"

Helga shook her head, "No, and even if I were, we have more important things to talk about right now."

Arnold smiled wickedly, and with a deep voice that insinuated more invited, "Lead the way."

It could have been the secure feel it lent to its occupants, or the fact that you couldn't hear a nuclear bomb go off inside it when parked in the garage; but whenever the couple had important things to talk about, for some reason the back seat of the big green car was the place to go.

First Helga sauntered over to the Packard, and got into the back seat of it, and then her husband followed. The mischievous man smiled sideways, and declared as he shut the heavy green, rear passenger side door, "It's been long time since we've done this, Pop Tart." Arnold said smoothly as he sidled up to his wife, fully determined to have an earth shaking prelude to the evening's festivities before their kids got home.

In turn, the disinterested wife scrunched her face, put her hand on her husband's chest, and pushed him away forcefully; putting a cold, wet blanket on his intentions. "I am not playing kissy face with you after that God awful gob of mayonnaise and pig parts you just stuck in your mouth!" The motherly wife dabbed a tissue on her tongue and began wiping his face as she finished with, "And there's still some chicken grease on you too."

The man pushed the hand that bore the saliva dipped tissue away. "Gah, Helga! You're not my mom!"

The woman growled, "Someone needs to be!"

Arnold laughed and grabbed his squirming wife with the intention of kissing her anyway, but she put a final damper on his romantic intentions quite well. "I had to go to school today, and get the kids. They're upstairs."

Arnold, momentarily forgetting about a frisky romantic conquest for a moment, asked worriedly, "They're not sick are they?"

The cautious woman said cautiously, "No, but," She paused, trying to think of the correct spin to put on the incident. "They both sort of got into a thing today."

The curious father asked in a wary tone, "What kind of thing?"

The woman explained, while trying to sanitize the event, "Well, Miles and Gertie got into a fight with some kids."

Arnold spat in total surprise, "What?"

The knowing mother continued, "Miles got the worst of it." Arnold's eyes widened when he was informed, "He has an awful bruise on his face, a cut on his forehead, and Tim Donovan tried to choke him. Gertie's left hand is bruised pretty well, too."

Arnold's teeth ground together. "If that rotten little bastard Donovan has been saying ugly things about our girl again, I swear, Helga, I'll go to his house, and rip his,"

Helga stopped Arnold's angry rant looking upwards, "It wasn't over Gertie, Honey, and Miles started the fight with James Barber because of someone else. The other two boys, Tim and Todd joined in with James to fight with Miles." The mother said judiciously, wanting her brave but misguided son, who had basically had his ass handed to him, to keep his dignity.

Arnold was confused, "You know how I feel about those three football players," Helga nodded in agreement as he asked in a confused manner, "But why in the world would Miles start a fight with one of the people he kind of pals around with?"

Helga shook her head and said, "From what Sheena told me and Thad,"

Arnold put his hand on his head stopping Helga, "Please tell me Miles hasn't been picking on Courtney Gammelthorpe again." Arnold's eyebrows were lowered in irritation, "We both warned him that if he did it any more,"

Helga shook her head, "No, no, no, Sweetie! Miles was protecting Courtney."

Arnold gave Helga a shocked, questioning look, and then said in a rather clueless tone, "I thought he didn't like her."

Helga scoffed incredulously while looking upwards at the grey, mohair covered roof, to that day still surprised at his congenital inability to observe the obvious. "Jeez, Arnold, just about as much as I didn't like you like you way back when."

The man said, "Oh," In a clued in tone. "Well, what exactly happened then?"

The woman decided that instead of skirting over the details of what their son and daughter did, she would tell it exactly as it happened, and allow her husband to glean from it what he would.

With a little help of course.

"Well, Tim and the other two turds were verbally picking on Courtney; James Barber tripped her as she walked away, and made her fall down. From what I was told the girl hit the floor pretty hard with her face, and her nose started to bleed."

Arnold shook his head with disgust and said darkly, "How dare they? One, she's a young woman, and those boys have no business picking on anyone, especially a girl; and two, don't they know what has been going on with her family for the past few months?"

Helga shrugged and said with a truthful sarcastic air, "I'm quite sure they did, but fine boys like that just don't care I suppose." Arnold eyed his wife, starting to dislike Tim more, as well as the other two boys in equal amounts.

And he didn't care much for any of them to begin with.

Helga fumed as she continued with, "Anyway, after they did that to Courtney, the boys and some of the people in the hallway started laughing at the poor girl too." She held up her hand and arm making a motion that demonstrated her surprise. "Sheena said that after Courtney started to cry, Miles ran up to James Barber, and just punched him square in the face with no warning."

With that Arnold frowned. It was true that he didn't either encourage, or like his son starting fights, but Courtney was a female, and he had always tried to instill in his son both a respect and protectiveness for the fairer sex. Tripping a girl, physically hurting her, and then making her cry were all acts that was provocation enough in his book to punch the daylights out of the boy, and Arnold was glad Miles had defended Courtney.

Even though he was an adult, if he had seen it, Arnold thought that he would have done the same thing, probably.

The concerned mother shook her head, "After that Miles tried to help Courtney up," The woman added with clear anger, "But before he could, the other two boys threw him to the floor, and all three of them started kicking him in the face, chest, and everywhere else that they could."

Arnold ground his teeth together, "Three against one, that figures." With angry sarcasm he ended, "How sporting."

Helga exclaimed as she threw up her hands. "When Tim tried to choke our boy, Gertie got into it, and Miles would have been hurt a lot worse than he was if she hadn't." The worried mother added cautiously not knowing what her husband's reaction would be, "From what I was told, she beat the snot out of all of them."

The man thought for a moment. "So she did nail Tim?"

"Yeah," Helga verified with unmistakable satisfaction painting her voice, "I do believe that Gertie did get in a lick or two on loverboy while she was at it."

Arnold's eyebrows slanted downwards. "Good!" Helga's eyes widened with surprise, as he usually forgiving husband declared with his head tilted sideways, "It serves the rotten little lying prick right for making her cry and telling everyone that she had," The concerned father looked upwards with a red face, his wife couldn't tell if it were anger, embarrassment, or a mixture of both. "Well, you know."

Helga sighed, "I feel the same way." She shamefully confessed, "I have to admit I was plenty upset with the kids by the time I got to school and talked to Thad in the parking lot, because I thought that Miles had been picking on Courtney too." She shamefully confessed, "I shouldn't have instantly assumed that the kids were at fault, and after I found out the real reason why the fight was started via Sheena, I felt like a real heel." Arnold took her hand and held it gently. "I gotta' tell you that after I found out all the facts, I wasn't angry anymore, and actually, rather proud of them."

Arnold nodded saying nothing. He wasn't upset with either of his children at all either. He couldn't condone starting fights, but this one was fought for all the right reasons all the way around concerning both kids.

The woman resumed, "When I got to the office, I wanted to try to talk to Courtney and give her one of Dr. Bliss' business cards, but Asswell cornered me and Thad and I couldn't get to her." Arnold chuckled at the woman he loved, and her respect for authority, as she shook her head, "While we were talking, Courtney left to wait for Thad in the hall, but while we were trying to get away from the principal, Miles slipped out of the office, and I think tried to talk to her or something." Helga added sweetly, "He really likes her, always has, he just doesn't know how to articulate it."

Arnold smiled, traced his fingers across her delicate cheek, and then touched his forehead with hers, while gazing lovingly into Helga's eyes. "I guess he's just too much like his mom."

Helga took a deep breath as she shook her head; she had to agree as much as she didn't wish to. "I suppose." The clueless woman continued cautiously, "Anyway, I don't know what our boy said to her, but Courtney went completely and totally ape shit nuts in the hallway and started screaming at him."

Arnold's eyes widened. "Huh?"

The blonde woman nodded, "She threw her book bag at Miles and missed, but then she hit him really hard with both her fists on his chest, and it was almost all Thad could handle to just keep her off of him, actually." Helga's eyes widened. "Thad finally got a good grip on her, and placed his body between Miles and Courtney, but when she couldn't hit our boy anymore, she settled for telling Miles that she hated him, and wished he were dead."

Arnold shook his head in shock, "Courtney did that? She's always been so quiet."

The understanding woman shook her head, "Well, not today, but wait, there's more," Helga said like a television infomercial commercial announcer, "After her outburst against Miles, Cashwell told her that she was a disruption, had broken a lot of school rules, and to go to the office; and she turned to him with the coldest look I've ever seen in my life and told him to,"

The saucy blonde woman could barely keep a straight face as she re-told the obscene sexual act that Thad's daughter suggested the overbearing principal do to himself at his earliest convenience. "For all of its nastiness, Courtney managed to state it with all of the aplomb that her mother might have." Arnold looked at Helga strangely when she added, "It was hilarious!"

Arnold, not even really listening to the last of what Helga had to say, rubbed his head, exhaled, and then asked making a face, "Is that even physically possible?"

On a sick tangent, his imaginative wife responded with her index finger raised, "I'm not sure, but I've been trying to figure out how you could do it all morning," Arnold's closed lips turned into a disgusted sneer as Helga raised her other hand to demonstrate. "I think that if you take your hand and put two fingers in,"

Arnold pushed his hand onto Helga's mouth and said, "NO! I don't want that in my head!" The man closed his eyes and said with a disgusted tone shaking his head, "You're a sick woman, Helga!"

Helga shrugged and said with a sing song voice, "And that's why you love me." Arnold could only shrug as the woman got her explanation back on track, "Anyway, Courtney ran off, and I had to go talk to Cashwell and see what he was going to do to punish the kids. Oh, Arnold," Helga announced with great affection, "You would have been so proud of the way the kids acted in the office today! They both told the truth and were so well spoken." With her eyes rolled upwards, she added, "I really wish you could have heard Gertie, she argued their case like a true defense attorney, and didn't curse while she did it."

Arnold said in shock, "Damn."

Then Helga announced with great pride, "Gertie's a stinkin' shark! She's going to make a hell of a splash in pre-law, I can tell you that much right now."

The blonde man observed, "Well, she was born arguing."

As the blonde woman laughed, her husband asked, "What did the principal say the kids' punishment is to be?"

The mother's angry eyes squinted. "He was going to expel them."

Arnold did a double take and bellowed, "What? Just outright expel them?"

Helga merely offered, "Yep."

Arnold yelled, "But that's not fair!" Helga shrugged as the angry man queried further, "What did he do to the three boys that hurt Courtney?"

Helga said as a matter of fact, "Not a damn thing! As far as the fight with Miles and Gertie, Cashwell said that the boys were justified to do what they did, and were innocent of all wrongdoing."

The angry father yelled, "Innocent my ass!" His wife backed up with the outburst, not only because it mirrored her daughter's sentiments exactly, but also because it took some doing to anger her usually laid back husband. Treating his children unfairly, however, was one of the things that could make Arnold Shortman lose his altruistic demeanor in a heartbeat. He angrily, but judiciously stated, "I can see Miles getting some kind of punishment for starting a fight, and Gertie too for her later involvement, but the other kids need punishing for what they've done too! What they did was a thousand times worse than what Miles and certainly Gertie did!"

The irate father growled and shifted angrily in his seat, "I ought to go over there right now and put Cashwell in his place!"

Helga interrupted with a neutral tone, "I handled it." Arnold stopped his rant and warily eyed his wife as he watched the clever woman's lips announce, "After a talk, he agreed to give them three days suspension starting Monday."

Arnold gave his wife a look. "I know that asshole!" Helga's eyebrows rose and her eyes widened as he continued, "He just isn't the type to give anybody a break."

Helga looked up at the upholstery of the headliner of the car innocently, absentmindedly picking stray hairs and lint off of it, and then discarding them through the window. Even though it was in a way wrong, she was still fairly pleased with herself and the results she got.

Seeing the slight smile on his wife's face that actually said it all, but wanting details, Arnold asked, "What did you do?"

The mischievous woman looked to the side and gave the all purpose answer that all naughty children give when they know they've done something not entirely kosher.

"Nothin'."

The blonde man said with an accusing tone, "Helga?"

The woman shrugged and declared, "I just appealed to his good side."

The man beside her scoffed, "He has one?"

The woman answered, "Gertie, is that you?"

Arnold asked again, "What did you do?" With a sober tone, he reasoned, "It must have been something else to make him change his mind."

The two sat locked in silence for a few moments, it was almost deafening as she avoided eye contact with her husband with her arms crossed, feeling somewhat guilty as his eyes pierced her.

Helga knew the liberating power of confession would set her free, plus the fact that Arnold wouldn't let her have peace until she spilled her guts. "Well, I told him I saw him and his receptionist making love in the janitor's closet at the Christmas party last year."

Arnold scoffed, "You dirty little liar!" Helga pursed her lips. "I was the one who saw that, and told you!"

Helga smiled wickedly, "Mr. Cashwell doesn't know that, now does he?"

Over the course of the next few minutes the resourceful woman divulged the talk she had with the principal in the locked office, not sparing a detail about her blouse, skirt, hair, or the salty, sweet delicious piece of butterscotch.

The worried wife seeing her husband's expression finished with, "And then I told Cashwell that if he held what I did against Gertie and Miles, or punished Courtney for her outburst; I'd visit down punishment on him that Hell couldn't conjure."

As Arnold stared at Helga with a look she couldn't judge the emotion of, feeling extremely uncomfortable. Helga's face in turn was completely red; and she could not believe that she had actually told her husband about the false seduction of a man who wasn't him.

The blushing woman asked sheepishly, "Are you angry with me?" Her husband still said nothing, but his face was red and he was breathing sort of hard, and Helga wondered if he was going to yell at her. She could understand if that were the case, but she said sheepishly, "I understand if you're angry with me but I,"

Arnold leapt across the bench seat and crushed his lips onto Helga's. As the man attacked her with all the fervor of a love crazed teenager, the shocked woman asked in great surprise, "What in the hell are you doing, Football Head?"

"Gettin' me some butterscotch!" Arnold replied salaciously as he kissed up her neck, desperately trying to get Helga on her back below him.

The surprised wife's response was, "Quit it, quit it," As his hands began moving up her chest, she pulled his ear, yanking his head away from her neck with a yelp issuing from his mouth. "Knock it off, confound it!"

"Ow, ow, OW!" The man whined when he was denied his sweet candy, and then began rubbing his red ear with the whine of, "That hurt!"

Helga advised, "The kids are here, and they could walk in on us!" The disappointed man groaned, gave his wife a pitiful look that ultimately didn't work, and only then did he let Helga sit up.

She didn't feel a bit of remorse in not giving him his tumble, and soon enough Arnold put his head in her lap, and she stroked his soft blonde hair. "I swear, Arnold, everyone thinks you're this wise, altruistic sage!"

Arnold argued, "But I am."

Helga smiled, "Yes, but only I know what a sick twisted little freak you are too, though."

Arnold smiled wickedly, mumbling into her stomach, "Don't act like you don't want it, Geraldine."

Helga growled at the mention of her hated middle name and promised harshly, "Later!"

Arnold pushed himself up off of his wife's lap and the backseat to sit up with a disappointed sigh, and in the process, his fingers touched the corner of a piece of paper in the crack of the seat.

Since his hands had nothing else to occupy their attention unfortunately, he pulled the slip of paper out to look at it. After reading the writing on it a couple of times, Arnold burst out into laughter as he read a third time, "Plunger of Love? What does this belong to?" The calming man asked as his unsettled wife looked at the piece of paper.

Helga studied it for a moment, then answered, "It's Miles', he wrote it."

Arnold asked, "Miles is writing love poetry about Courtney Gammelthorpe?"

Helga retorted, "Well Gertie isn't."

Arnold suddenly felt a great swell of pity for the severely un-gifted boy, and as he read the heartfelt words that could be hard pressed to pass for art; he could barely keep a straight face.

_'Courtney, you are the only plumber_

_Who has the plunger of love that can_

_Unclog the toilet of my soul._

_You snake out the true feelings_

_I have for you, out of the dark_

_U bend of my heart.'_

Helga gave Arnold a nasty look as he cackled uncontrollably just like Courtney's father Curly had after he had eaten a five pound bag of sugar on a dollar bet when they were kids.

After a light punitive slap on the forearm from Helga, and some time to settle, still chuckling, Arnold observed, "Damn, he could give Ernie Potts some pointers!"

The upset mother, not liking her husband's fun at their son's expense at all, spat with real anger and empathy for Miles, "Don't laugh at Miles any more! He wrote that poem out of love for that girl from his heart!"

The man gave his protective, motherly wife a look.

Arnold knew that it was in the mom code of ethics to try to love all the creative endeavors of her children, but even she had to admit that their son's literary work was still pretty bad. "Honey, the poem is entitled 'Plunger of Love', who in this world writes poems about love revolving around plumbing equipment?"

The woman answered, "Obviously our lovesick son, Hair Boy." Then Helga warned, "Don't you dare even mention or tease him about this, or any of the other ones!"

The man's eyes widened and he laughed and asked with a funny look, "I won't, but there's more?"

The loving mother nodded, "Lots of them." The woman looked upwards, hating to agree with her annoying mate even the tiniest bit. "Okay, Miles is no wordsmith, I'll hand you that, but it's sweet how much he really does care about that girl. He has a little shoebox full of paper clippings about the things she's done in school, one of her hair ties, a pink rubber bracelet, and pictures of her hidden in a box in his closet."

Arnold declared with certainty and a forceful exhale of breath, "I swear to God, it must be genetic."

Helga cut her eyes at the light of her life and would have liked to have hit him really hard on the shoulder, but before she was tempted to do such, she asked with a sigh, "Well, what should we do about the kids' punishment?" She said with a voice that could not be mistaken for anything else but regret. "We have to do something, they're not completely blameless in what happened today," The mother looked away as she said, "But, I really don't want to punish them at all."

Arnold fully agreed, "I don't either, but you're right, we can't exactly condone what happened either. It would be irresponsible to just not say anything and let them slide." He said unsure himself.

Arnold looked out of the garage and saw the small fence that enclosed their tiny yard. Next to the wall, near the door of the first bay were four, one gallon cans of stain and rollers that had been gathering dust and cobwebs since the start of summer. "You know, the fence does need waterproof staining before winter gets here." He said with a lilt.

Helga looked at the supplies, her husband, and gave a sideways smile. "And we've been putting it off for months."

Arnold looked at Helga." I was hoping you'd get fed up waiting for me to do it, and go out and do it yourself."

The woman sighed harshly, gave her husband a nasty look, and elbowed him in the ribs lightly. "Fat chance, Bucko!"

Then Arnold came up with the perfect idea, "I think that the kids should be grounded until they finish staining the fence. It shouldn't take over two days to do with rollers." He added factually, "The job is messy, it sucks, and neither one of us wants to do it." He smiled. "I think that that is a good way to not condone their actions today without chaining them up in the basement feeding them only bread and water. Does that sound agreeable to you, Shortman?"

His wife smiled, "That's an excellent idea, Shortman, good thing I thought of it."

The man gave his miscreant wife a look, and now that important parenting matters were out of the way, the regretful husband asked with sadness in his voice, like a petted child, "I ah, I guess there's no tonight, huh?" Arnold looked down in disappointment.

The blonde woman smirked, "Is that all you think about, Shortman?"

The man shrugged, and eyes his wife salaciously, "You're gorgeous, Pop Tart, and I can't help it if I want to rock your world."

The man paused and said in a heartfelt manner, "You're all I thought about while I was gone."

The seductive woman smirked and toyed with her husband's hair, "Flattery will get you everywhere, Yutz."

The conniving temptress struck upon the idea of another accord to be offered for voting. "You know, Arnold," The woman said with a funny voice, "Old English law had lots of strange loopholes."

The hopeful husband smiled, "Continue."

The trivia buff resumed, "Law dictated that if a man sentenced to spend time in jail could escape his prisoner and touch the robe of a monk or priest before the jailer could catch him again, he could win the privilege of waiting a week before his sentence of incarceration was carried out."

Arnold just looked at Helga like she was nuts until she forwarded the motion of, "Let's allow the kids the grace period of tonight, and let their grounding start tomorrow." She selfishly theorized, ending with a prurient wiggling of her eyebrows, "That way we can spend some time together alone tonight."

Helga knew that she didn't need to do much convincing when her agreeable husband almost yelled "Sounds good to me!"

Helga grinned, "Well, what's it going to be, then?" The perverted man smiled widely as the delicious menu of activities was recited. "Little pink book, lost locket, or teenage rage?"

Arnold and Helga announced in unison, "Teenage rage."

The woman scoffed, "You always want 'Rage'."

The man grinned, "That one's the most fun. 'Sides," The man said eyeing his wife's svelte body, and pinching her stomach playfully. "It's that cute little short skirt and pink tank top that does it." Ending with a wink.

The woman conceded defeat, "Alright, 'Rage' it is." Helga kissed Arnold's cheek, and motioned with her head. "Come on, Octopus; let's get it over with and go talk to the kids."

The two got out of the car and gathered the hamburger, cake, and half eaten chicken out of the refrigerator. As the two walked out, Helga gave her husband a strange sideways glance, and Arnold announced in response, "We'll eat it all, I promise!"

Helga laughed, and Arnold shook his head at the incorrigible woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own the car manufacturer brand name Nissan, or car model name "Sentra".
> 
> Corvette is a registered trademark of General Motors Incorporated, Chevrolet Motor Division. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The now defunct car company Packard does not belong to me, and I do not infringe on the remains of either Packard, or Studebaker, with whom the Packard corporation later merged.
> 
> The nickname "Ethyl" comes from the tetraethyl lead compounds in many of the gasoline brands used in automobiles until the use of lead in motor fuels was banned. (In America) Ethyl is a registered trademark of The Ethyl Corporation. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The name "Chewie" is the nickname of the character "Chewbacca" created by George Lucas, and is the property of Lucasfilm Ltd./20th Century Fox. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The Lord of the Rings series of books, and the character "Frodo" were created by J.R.R. Tolkein, and belongs to whoever owns the publishing rights to the "Lord of the Rings" books. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> I have no clue who owns the paper towel brand name "Brawny" but again, it isn't me.
> 
> The book Gone with the Wind, and the character Scarlett O'Hara was both created and written by Margaret Mitchell. No infringement on her estate or publisher is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The X Games don't belong to me either, I don't know who owns the rights to all that but I don't, and I hope that covers it.
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from the song "Beautiful Mess", composed by Andy Connell, and performed by Swing Out Sister.


	5. Grasshopper

After struggling to open the kitchen door, the couple carried in the spoils gathered from Arnold's modern hunt at the warehouse store inside the house, and placed it in a pile on the kitchen counter.

When the inescapable stench of the simmering pot sitting on the stove hit Arnold's nose, his face twisted, and even though it was bad, foolishly, he asked the first question that every woman wants to hear about her cooking. "What in the world is that terrible odor, Honey? It smells like,"

Even though Arnold had sense enough not to finish his thought, it was already too late to backtrack as Helga turned to face him. Before she could make a lurid suggestion as to what Arnold could do with a handful of his spoiling mayonnaise, and the smooth, long tube of hamburger cradled in his arms, he further poked, "Are you trying to make goulash again or something?"

Helga's eyebrows turned downward and was quite irritated as she asked, "Trying?" Blowing hot breath out of her nose, the regretful man could have sworn it was smoking as it might out of a dragon's nostrils as she asked, "What's your _point_?"

"Nothing." Arnold said looking upwards trying as hard as he could not to smile when he saw his wife's anger rise.

Helga put the black forest cake down on the kitchen table and said calmly, "You know what, Arnold? Just say it; in fact, I _want_ to hear you say it."

Pushing his luck, the foolhardy risk taker simply asked, "Are you making goulash for dinner again, Pookie?"

Flinging up her hands, she exclaimed, "Oh, _here_ we go!" Helga glared at her husband for a moment, and then turned back to stir the wrinkled, disgusting looking skin that had formed on the surface of her stew back down into the pot to dissolve.

As she did, Arnold looked down over his wife's shoulder down into the bubbling cauldron of what he thought for sure was the embodiment of God awful evil.

He was so glad that he had eaten half a chicken on the way home, and there was still half of it left. With some thought, the kind man thought that he might share it with his children, but only if they found out about it, whenever Helga's Hungarian food eventually burned like the Hindenburg.  
Helga was the only woman he knew that could burn something made mostly of water.

The man kissed Helga's forehead, and gave a sympathetic, "I love you for so many reasons, Pop Tart, and one of the biggest is because you never give up."

Feeling like her husband's sentiments were more condescending than comforting, Arnold received the threat of, "I'll pop _your_ tart, Buddy!" Then she whipped him on the bottom lightly with a twisted hand towel, which was not as hard as he expected, but it still hurt enough to make him yowl.

Arnold rubbed his barely stinging bottom. "You're mean as a blooming snake!"

As an ending point, the woman gave an optimistic appraisal of the simmering grey colored meal being tortured on the stove. "Just you wait! It will be good!" Never being any good at knowing when to quit, Helga added, "In fact, it'll be so good I won't let you have any at all!"

Using his tongue as a sharp shovel, Arnold dug himself a hole deeper than he ever dared before with one simple word. "Promise?"

Helga wound her towel up again, preparing to strike once more, but Arnold scurried towards the window to open it, and allow the acrid fumes of the goulash escape before she popped him again, assuredly much harder. Fuming, she threatened, "You're gonna' get it, Arnoldo!"

Not missing a beat, Arnold whispered with a wide grin, "When?"

With a roll of her eyes, Helga disregarded the irritant she married for a moment to look back down into her bubbling stew pot to see what progress it had made, and by then even she had begun to question if her dinner would be edible or not.

Looking at the counter, and Arnold's needlessly bought food, Helga turned her attention to the task of transplanting the same food, into another refrigerator.

Uncomfortably bent over with her head inside the refrigerated box, Helga knew she was probably the only person paying attention to what she was saying. "You know, you're the one who should be doing this lousy job, Bucko." Helga moved a wilting cauliflower the size of Texas, a gallon sized jar of pickles, and half a pot of dried, orange looking leftover spaghetti that no one would eat aside, so that the cake and tube of hamburger would fit inside. "You're the one who bought all this stuff." Helga ended with irritation as she crammed the pink and white speckled log of hamburger onto the lower rack with the aid of her aching knee.

Really enjoying his wife's ire, and having a death wish, Arnold poured gasoline on an already smoldering pile of wood by declaring, "You're so much better at it than I am, Darling."

Helga bared her teeth, growled, and took an opportunity to glare hatefully at Arnold while his back was turned. Satisfied for the moment, vowing to kill him later when his guard was off, the vengeful wife finished defying the laws of physics by making several objects occupy the same space at once.

Grandma Gertrude Shortman was loveable, but her sanity was more than questionable, and now Helga understood why, because years of exposure to her frustrating husband, Phil, had driven every shred of sense from her mind just as Arnold was trying to do to her now.  
Soon, the two heard footsteps trot down the stairs, then fall on the landing, and turned to look in the kitchen doorway.

Never one to help, and almost always siding with her father, Gertie the younger appeared, presumably to greet her father home, but instead she immediately grimaced, and asked with her hand over her nose, "God, Mom, what smells like,"

The girl's already wound up mother rose from the racks of the over filled refrigerator, and forcefully closed the door making the condiments hanging in it inside perform a noisy, rattling lambada dance against each other.

Helga then sarcastically addressed both her husband and child looking up at the ceiling with her hands on her hips in a frame of mind where annoyance can turn to anger quickly. "I am so glad that you and your father are an authority on the smell of ass!"

Gertie, who had suddenly remembered just how thin her ice was that day, skillfully skated around her comment with a compliment, "Whatever it is, I'm sure it will be good, Mom." When her mother's facial features didn't change, she drastically changed the subject with a wide grin, "Hi, Dad, glad you're home!"

The loving father outstretched his wide arms, and Gertie rushed to them. "I missed you so much, Grasshopper!" Gertie loved the nickname her father had addressed her by ever since she could remember, and as she squeezed him tighter, Arnold wondered, "Are you okay, Kiddo?" The worried man released his daughter after giving her a kiss on the cheek, then gently took her injured hand into his to examine, unhappy to have found something that was worse than he imagined and frowned. "That looks awful, 'Hopper!" Arnold grimaced, "Your mom said she's already offered, but are you sure that you don't want to go to a doctor?" He wisely observed, "You could have broken bones, and not even know it."

"Nah, I can bend my fingers okay, so I know they're not broken." Gertie took her usual seat at the small kitchen table, where thankfully the cool breeze from outside pushed her mother's bad smelling, whatever it was, for the most part, away from her nose. The unconcerned girl then dismissed her physical discomfort easily. "Besides, it's not a big deal, it doesn't even hurt."

Despite the optimistic appraisal, and knowing full well that Gertie was lying, Helga got out one of the many blue gel packs she kept in the freezer for her own aches, then handed it to the girl to place on her swollen hand. Helga walked over to the cabinet, retrieved a glass from the cupboard, filled it with water, and then fished in a familiar blue bottle for a tablet for pain.

Helga didn't know why she bothered though, because she already knew that her stubborn daughter would immediately refuse to take it, for she had inherited her great grandfather's unforgiving mistrust for the healing arts doctors practiced.

Once, as a toddler on a visit to the doctor for an inoculation, much to Helga's surprise, her tiny daughter had wrestled a hypodermic syringe away from a much larger nurse. In addition, as Gertie threw the syringe into the wastebasket, she told the nurse she could keep her sucker, and to stay away from her butt.

As such, Helga was genuinely worried about her misguided girl not only because of the wound she suffered now, but because the time was soon coming in which Gertie would be at college, and left to her own devices.

Gertie had nothing but disdain for taking pills, hated doctors' offices, despised hospitals, and if a piece of toilet paper didn't alleviate an ailment her daughter had, her attitude about alternative treatments was screw it.

Despite already being aggravated with Gertie's stalwart act of toughness, the concerned mother still asked nicely, "Please take this, Sweetie, it will help with the swelling and discomfort of your hand."

True to form, the girl immediately refused. "Mom, I don't need a capsule, they don't do any good, and all they do is make me feel loopy."

Helga sighed forcefully, "Benadryl that does that to you and Miles, Honey, this is ibuprofen." The girl took a sip of water and eyed the medicine as Helga impatiently cajoled with a little motherly martyrdom. "I swear, Gertie, if you won't take care of yourself, at least let me for as long as I can!" The insistent mother pointed at her headstrong daughter's hand, and testified, "I know that hurts, and this pill will help it."

The girl sighed, "Jeez, Mom, it doesn't hurt! It's not like I'm going to die or something." She waved her puffy hand demonstratively, "It's just a pissy little nothing bruise."

Helga seriously threatened, "Gertie, are you going to take this pill yourself, or am I going to have to hide it in a piece of cheese, and feed it to you like I do for Abner?" The chiding mother added, "Don't say 'pissy' either, you don't need to use bad words all the time to get a point across."

With a huff, grudgingly, the girl growled and took the pill, just so her mother would leave her in peace. "Fine! I'll take the dang thing if you're going to make such a big fuss over it!" Then Gertie added, "Pissy isn't a bad word, Mom, I say it all the time."

Helga interjected, "No kidding!" She noted evenly, "You're fairly free with your favorite and all of the other ones too."

Much easier than initially thought, Miles crept up the hallway with light, well-planned steps using the backdrop of his mother and sister's benign, but growing argument about the pros and cons of teen profanity to mask his movements.

After cleverly slinking past the kitchen door, and around the corner of the hallway, Miles silently found his way down the basement steps with no one but Gertie's lousy, murdering cat and Abner being the wiser.

Once safely downstairs in the dark laundry room, but afraid to turn on a light, Miles rummaged in the scant illumination offered by a draped window, and finally found what he was looking for in the laundry basket.

Holding up his treasure for a short inspection, Miles was grateful that it wasn't treated with any chemicals yet, as he reverently folded, and then hid the dirty item of clothing under his shirt, pressing it down as much as he could to conceal its bulk.

When Miles was satisfied the shirt was as flush against his stomach as it would get, the secretive boy repeated the successful undercover retrieval mission to get downstairs in reverse.

Miles felt relieved when he was almost home free to the steps that lead to the second floor so he could secure the spoils of his daylight raid, but Helga poked her head out of the kitchen door, completely sabotaging his efforts.

Freezing like a doomed deer in the bright headlights of a barreling semi truck, Miles turned his wide blue eyes to look at his mother as she addressed him politely. "Honey, your father is home, please come on into the kitchen so we can all talk, okay?"

Then the observant woman immediately spied the bulky item underneath her son's t-shirt that he was desperately acting like wasn't there.

It made Miles look like he was in the lumpy beginnings of his second trimester of pregnancy, and Helga could only gather that his Courtney Gammelthorpe blood stained shirt was the irresponsible father.

Hoarding a shirt stained with someone else's blood was the absolute limit for Helga, and she was going to demand that the boy relinquish his prize for washing, but just as she was about to ask, she then empathetically thought of her own experiences in respect to worshiping filthy biohazards in the past.

When she was a kid, she had nearly tongue kissed a fake Arnold head, artfully crafted from his saliva infused bubble gum, scraped fresh from the bottoms of Hillwood City park services filthiest free seating.

Helga shuddered at the pigeon crap run off alone, and God only knew what else was brewing on the bottom of the nasty benches that had touched her childhood lips via Arnold's used chewing gum.

Arnold's chewing gum itself was most assuredly germ ridden enough all on its own. Helga thought it was a wonder, but if she didn't die from some virulent disease way back then, her son would most likely be safe too.

Surely to goodness her infatuated boy wouldn't be French kissing, and licking the bloodstained shirt like a love starved vampire.

At least Helga hoped not.

'Welcome to the shit you used to do, 'Ol girl' Helga thought to herself, but said aloud to spare her son embarrassment over what she had context for, "When you're finished doing, " Helga tried to stumble upon the right word in her mind, but could only produce, "Whatever, come back down in few minutes, okay?"

"Okay, Mom, I'll be right back down!" The boy yelped as he rumbled upstairs, grateful that his mother didn't notice the shirt secreted underneath his own clothing.

A few minutes later Miles came back downstairs, and like a soldier caught in violent house-to-house fighting, he barely poked his head through the kitchen door before walking in completely.

Soon enough, his father's eyes met his, and Miles felt so overwhelmingly ashamed that he looked away from them, and down at the floor wishing that he could just crawl into a hole and die, simply to spare himself the disgrace of facing him.

It wasn't only because his father had been all too right about Tim, Todd, and James not being his friends, and he being too proud to listen to him either.

Upon finishing some serious self reflection that started on the ride home that morning, Miles, realizing truth of his actions in the past, knew that he also hadn't done his father proud in relation to his teachings about respect towards women either.

Not only did Miles had to deal with the fact that he had let him down, he also had to come to terms with being too late with the girl he loved too.

From her own mouth that morning, there was no doubt in his mind, or anyone else's for that matter, that Courtney Gammelthorpe hated him with a passion. Even worse, Miles knew that there was no hope existing in the universe that would ever change her sentiment about him either.

With that suffocating truth weighing heavily on his chest, and feeling much worse then than he had all day, Miles took in a deep breath, wanting to leave the kitchen, but he couldn't.

In turn, ignorant of his boy's inner pain, Arnold rose from the table and gave his injured son a good looking over, eventually settling on his face. Wholly aware of what had to be his outer pain, Arnold exclaimed, "Good God, Miles!" The stunned father walked over to his boy, and grimaced. "What in the world did they do to you, Son?"

Miles assured, "I'm okay, Dad, it looks a lot worse than it really is." Arnold wasn't so sure though, as he gently turned his boy's head by his chin on the unaffected side while Helga got out another gel pack and handed it to her boy. With no argument, Miles plastered it to his face gratefully, gobbled a pill for pain, and gulped down a whole glass of water to chase it without a second thought when his mother offered it to him.

The concerned father gritted his teeth, and began to have a real distaste for Principal Byron Cashwell that was approaching rivalry with that of his wife. Hating to do it, Arnold had to concede that James Barber may have been entitled to strike back at Miles for hitting him first, as per the rules of the game, but the other two cowards should have kept their oar out of it, and left Miles and James to settle the matter on their own.

When Miles saw his dad's angry expression, he wondered if his appraisal of his father's mood was incorrect, but then was surprised when his father said with a smile, "I missed you so much, Big Guy." The understanding father knew not to hug his boy, but he did firmly grasp his shoulder as an ending point, and as Miles searched his father's gentle eyes, knowing he were forgiven.

Feeling a little better, Miles sat down beside his sister and Arnold took a seat beside Helga, both parents readying themselves to become hypocrites.

Helga stroked Arnold's hand, and he spoke first, "I'm not exactly thrilled that you two got into a fight today," Miles and Gertie looked away from their parents in shame, but back in surprise when he continued, "but I understand that there were extenuating circumstances concerning it. That being said, though, I don't condone the method in which you handled the situation, Miles," The man looked his son square in the eyes, his voice exuding pride. "I can understand the reason why you reacted the way that you did, though, and I am extremely proud of the fact that you stood up for someone who was being treated so badly, Son."

Arnold's attention then turned to Gertrude. "Gertie, I know why you fought today, and even though it wasn't exactly right," The man addressed his daughter wholeheartedly; "I would not have expected you to react any other way." He ended in an assuring tone, "I also want you both to know that I'm not angry with either of you."

Helga glanced at Arnold, and he began the unhappy task of the twins' sentencing. "We have both decided that your shared punishment for today's incident will be staining both sides of the fence around the yard this weekend, in addition to your usual household duties." Arnold tried as hard as he could not to betray his true feelings as he ended, "Your grounding will last as long as it takes you both to accomplish the task."

Helga then interjected with her attention focused more on Miles than Gertie when she added to the conditions of the extra chore. "Properly."

The boy and girl looked at one another strangely. The fence around the yard was relatively minuscule, it wouldn't take much time to complete, a day at the most, and that was if they fooled around.

Arnold finished, Helga giving him a questionable look with a slight smile. "Your grounding will begin starting tomorrow morning. You both have the grace period of tonight to let your friends know you've not been killed by either one of us, and to tell them the terms of your punishment until you're finished with the extra work you are to do."

The additional mulligan grabbed the kids' attention, and it surprised them. Their parents were not heavy-handed tyrants by any stretch of the imagination, but this was a most unusual lenient treatment considering the trouble they were in, especially after factoring in their less than innocent involvement in it.

Miles thought that when one got older, the brain cells were the first to go, and that his parents had completely taken leave of their senses.

No matter the reasoning behind their generosity though, Miles wasn't about to contradict the judgment they had just decreed in his and Gertie's shared favor. He just hoped that his justice minded sister didn't question their decision, cause them to reconsider, and ruin it for the both of them.

Alternately, observing the quick, somewhat suggestive, knowing glance that her parents shared earlier, Gertie figured that their mom and dad wanted to spend some time alone that evening, seeing as their father had been away for a week and a half.

Who was she to argue against three hours of freedom after work, when she could be stuck at home grounded, and bored senseless watching Chewie voraciously lick her hairy butt, only to hack up more hairballs knitted with semi-soft kibble?

Arnold glanced at his wife, and Helga finished the terms of punishment sounding much more serious than he could have mustered. "Beginning tomorrow, you're not allowed to use your computers except for schoolwork, no calls-land line or cellular to friends, no television, and no visitors to the house. The only places you are both allowed to drive, as well as go to, is work and back until you finish the fence, understand?"

"Okay." Both kids answered in the affirmative.

Glad the unpleasantness was over, Arnold's face brightened when he pointed to the giant white frosted, shaved chocolate and cherry bedecked confection sitting on the counter. "So, who wants some cake?"

"I do!" Gertie and Arnold said together, not unlike excited children.

Helga immediately shot back with a shaking index finger and motherly zeal, "No cake until dessert, it will ruin your dinner!"

Arnold and Gertie shared looks at one another, and then glanced at the large pot steaming on the stove, but when the two caught Helga's look they scattered out of the kitchen, leaving Miles to rise quietly and leave.

Watching her son exit with concern, Helga forcefully sighed, then looked into the bubbling pot scratching her head thinking goulash should definitely not look like that, and as she stirred, wondered if she should have put the all the dumplings in yet.

The worried woman picked up her cookbook, thumbed to the recipe, re-read it, and placed the book back down near the stove absentmindedly thinking of Miles, and the best way to try helping him.

* * *

A few blocks over, a man was eating crow, and simultaneously trying to keep his marriage in good order.

She had told him his wager was a fool's endeavor, and not to do it because she smelled something fishy, but he stubbornly took his brother's bet anyway.

The regretful man knew his older brother was baiting him into the trap of making the expensive and troublesome gamble, but when Jamie O began clucking like a chicken, Gerald allowed his pride to accept the wager so he wouldn't have accusations of cowardice haunting him.

Knowing that his wife was correct well before he even lost, Gerald asked with humility, "Are you mad at me, Phoebes?"

In turn, his tiny wife eyed him, secretly enjoying the way he was dangling while she was pretending to be angry with him.

Ultimately, not being as good an actress as her best friend, therefore unable to keep a straight face, Phoebe said with humor on the edge of her voice, "Oh, yes, Gerald, I'm just really terribly angry with you." Phoebe admitted as she wrapped her arms around the man's broad shoulders, and pulled him down for a sweet peck on the cheek. No matter her good natured acceptance of the situation, still, Phoebe still couldn't help getting in a tiny dig on her smooth husband, and rather enjoy it. "Even as little as I know about sports, I knew we'd be doing this today, because there's no way the Silver Hawks could have possibly defeated the Tiger Sharks."  
Gerald frowned. "Et tu, Phoebe?"

He was relieved when his wife added, "We all needed to have a get together anyway, because it's been much too long since the last one." As such, Phoebe was careful to add the catch to her attendance. "Just as a heads up, none of my patients are due, and I really don't see it happening, but I am on call tonight for the emergency room; so I may have to take off and leave for surgery anyway."

Gerald acknowledged, "I know, and it's the weekend too, so more people are going to be out, and accidents are going to be more likely to happen." Brightly he hoped, "I hope that no one needs you though, you know, for their own sake."

Phoebe smiled at his lovely sentiment, and then Gerald took a moment reflect upon what it meant to be married to a doctor.

Calls to their home, usually at the least opportune moment, sometimes forced his dedicated wife to leave meals at a moments notice, or get up in the dead of night, frantically dress and then drive away like a demon on fire; often times, not coming home for hours at the time.

Because of her important, but demanding work, she had missed anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, academic competitions, and business dinners of he, and their son in the carrying out of both Hippocrates' oath and her contracts.

They had made many concessions in other aspects of their private life as well, but he was so proud to be the husband of Phoebe Johannsen, and the work she did; that it made all the sacrifice worth it. His wife had given birth to so many babies in her career he had lost count, and saved the lives of several of them along with their mothers as well.

Gerald also knew the toll the work took on Phoebe as well, she was a gifted healer, but even with all of her expertise and training, sometimes it could not interfere with the whim of fate. Many doctors Gerald met saw medicine as merely a means to an end, a way to afford expensive houses, cars, and other material things, but his dear sweet wife on the other hand, went into medicine with the genuine desire to help her fellow man.

As such, Phoebe had never developed the callous wall of 'caring, but not caring' separating her from patients that all "good" doctors were supposedly supposed to have, thank God.

Over the period of her twenty-three and a half year career Dr. Phoebe Gail Heyerdahl Johannsen took each loss personally, even though she was not at fault once. When home, and out of the spotlight of her workplace after the death of a patient, or a child, he was the one who gave Phoebe solace, and literally, a shoulder to cry upon.

Gerald was used to her busy schedule, and was glad that she enjoyed her work, but he did yearn for the day in which Phoebe went into private practice with a couple of her colleagues as she had been seriously talking about lately, so that they could spend more time together.

Gerald realized that it was her career, therefore her choice to make, but he would be lying if he also didn't admit that he had been concerned about Phoebe's safety for years, being out at all hours of the day in dark hospital parking decks. It was true that his wife had years of experience in the martial arts, and carried pepper spray with her, but he still worried about her anyway.

Dragging his mind away from the potentially unpleasant, the man groaned, and dragged his mind towards the definitely unpleasant. "I just hate the fact that Jamie-O was right, and I have to do this because of it."

Phoebe, who had her back turned to her husband, rolled her eyes and knew absolutely none of what he was saying was true, as Gerald loved throwing barbecues, and relished any excuse to do so that he could find.

Phoebe turned with a smile as Gerald continued to complain, "It's costing us a small fortune too, and it wouldn't be so bad if Jamie-O wouldn't rub in I was wrong, but you know he'll rub it in." Gerald made a twisting motion with his hand and outstretched index finger. "The dirty fightin' toad will probably put me in some kind of wrestling hold, lick his finger, and stick it down in my ear while he's at it too!"

Phoebe's eyes widened and she made a face when her husband forwarded one of his stranger theories again, "Doesn't he know that you're just supposed to do that to your wife?" Then Gerald began to complain about Jamie-O's gigantic wrestling and football playing sons. "I bet Orrell, Johnson, and Peyton eat every last one of the ribs too!"

Phoebe smirked and tried to allay her husband's fears, "We have twenty-five pounds of ribs, Honey, and if Jamie-O gets a little too rough, don't worry, because I'll be here to protect you." With that Phoebe made a false karate chop slice through the air.

Deciding to give herself a treat, and call Gerald on his own special brand of horse hockey, Phoebe noted, "Besides, don't even act like you aren't enjoying this, Sweetie." Gerald's eyes widened when his tiny wife pointed with her finger to the large, gleaming silver grill that took up the room where her beautiful bonsai trees were once located. "You live to drag out that monstrosity."

Some men loved cars, others fell in love with their trucks, some their boats; but the other woman in Gerald's life that Phoebe had to compete for attention from, was a dual gas and charcoal grill that she over exaggeratedly thought was the size of an old nineteen fifties travel trailer.

It didn't really bother Phoebe that he called the grill my baby sometimes, but the flabbergasted woman could not believe the inanimate object was christened with the zaftig name of "Lulu" not too long ago.

The grill had more racks inside it than a shoe store, and could handle cooking several chickens, huge racks of ribs, rump roasts, and parts of various other species of dead edible chordates.

A true family man, Gerald seldom bought anything costly that he specifically wanted for himself, so when her husband bought the grill, Phoebe thought it was wonderful that he had something he could enjoy mainly for himself.

Now however, the cooking device now was becoming somewhat of an obsession for her doting husband, and it seemed that every time she turned around, he was buying some sort of new expensive, usually needless accessory for it.

The ultimate irony of her husband buying the school bus sized grill was that until that evening, the only thing that her husband had ever cooked on it was the odd hot dog and hamburger for her, their son, and himself.

Cooking for a family of three on the gigantic four burner, two charcoal pit grill was the equivalent of swatting gnats with battleship cannons, and the word overkill didn't begin to describe the surplus to their culinary needs.

The dark haired man shrugged with a smile as he patted the end of the large grill like the rump of a well-loved pet with a proud smile. "Isn't she beautiful, Phoebes?"

The woman glanced at the large metal device, and even though she was not as enamored with the device as her husband was, she still decided to placate him partially. "Yeah, she's a hot chick alright, but she has tons of junk in the trunk." Dryly, Phoebe offered, "In fact, I bet you can see her from space." As Gerald polished his handprints from the shiny silver grill with a damp towel, she finished with a wistful voice, "I'm sure you'll both be happy together."

Gerald gave his wife a dirty look she didn't notice, then one last glance hoping she would see his hurt expression over her pin cushioned remarks about his red-hot beautiful baby. When Phoebe didn't, the disappointed man finished pouring ice into a large galvanized wash tub, and began twisting bottles of Yahoo soda and the odd domestic beer deep into it to chill, taking his hands out of the freezing icy water to warm his pale, numb fingers under his arms.

When done with that, he finished hanging up strings of scowling Tiki lights, some streamers, and a string of Christmas lights that were stuck on "blink" that he found in the garage and put up on a whim as well.

When he was finished, Gerald took a step back, judging the decorations for symmetry, and even placement with one his hand on his hip, the other cradling his chin.

Phoebe smiled with a shake of her head, and thought his posture looked funny, as if her husband were an interior decorator looking at picture frames on the wall for crookedness after asking for a cup of tea with a twist of lemon.

"What do you think?" Gerald asked his better half, as he finished impaling tiki torches into the ground and then began filling them with fuel.

Phoebe answered, "The lights and streamers look nice, Martha." Gerald's eyes squinted towards his wife, and this time she did notice his irritation. "I think those torches are a bad idea, though." Cautiously she theorized, "You know how Jamie-O's boys like to play with fire."

Phoebe decided not to mention that she thought her husband also seemed to enjoy lighting the odd inanimate object every now and then, as well as took great pleasure in firing up the grill, even if he wasn't cooking anything with it.

His excuse always being that he was "seasoning" it.

Gerald shrugged, "If something happens, you're a doctor, Baby."

Phoebe shook her head. "An obstetrician/gynecologist can't do much good for charred boys, Dear."

As Gerald gave the woman an odd look, Kyo walked through the back gate and put his books down on the picnic table as he looked around at the eclectic, mix matched decorations dangling from the house, and Tiki poles stuck into the ground. "What's going on?" The boy asked in curiosity, "Birthday party for Lulu?"

Phoebe laughed at Gerald's expression, then wrapped her arms around her tall boy, he returned the embrace, and then lowered himself to give his sweet mother a kiss on the cheek. "Well," The doting mother began, "We're having a barbecue to celebrate your father's incorrect theories on football teams' playing abilities." The elder Johannsen looked upwards rubbing the back of his neck in quasi embarrassment.

Kyo smiled at his dad and held up his hand for his father to slap, "I gather you lost the bet then?"

"Yeah." Slightly grimacing as he returned his son's gesture, Gerald looked up and away, "Kinda'."

Studying Kyo thoughtfully, Phoebe began thinking of a way to get Gertie to the house that evening without her son knowing that she knew his true feelings for the girl. The creative woman reached down to carry an ice filled cooler over to the picnic table, and when Kyo rushed over to help, Phoebe casually mentioned, "You know what, Sweetie, why don't you run over to Arnold and Helga's, and ask them all to come over tonight?" Gerald gave Phoebe a look, highly impressed with her cleverness, "We have plenty of food, and I haven't seen your auntie Helga in over a week."

Phoebe motioned with her head towards her husband, and the metal monolith he was making a sacrifice of charcoal to with reverence. "Your father can also make another convert to the cult of 'Lulu' in your uncle Arnold." As Gerald cut his eyes towards her, Phoebe cleverly added the bait for her son to lure the Shortman twins to come. "Miles and Gertie will definitely want to see Timberly."

The boy's eyes lit up. "Aunt Tim's coming too?" The kind woman was Kyo's favorite aunt, not to mention one of Gertie and Miles' favorite people. Timberly babysat for Miles, Gertie, Courtney, and Kyo when they were younger, and their parents were away together for evenings out.Both of the boy's friends had become as attached to his aunt as he had, and Kyo's eyes brightened at the prospect of Gertie's presence at the family function, but then his eyes fell remembering the events of the day.

Downheartedly, Kyo informed, "Actually, I don't think any of the Shortman's will be coming tonight." The boy added with no small amount of regret, "Gertie and Miles will probably be grounded after what happened this morning."

With shocked curiosity, Phoebe queried, "Why? What's happened?"

Gerald wasn't too terribly shocked, though, when he asked dryly, "What in the world did those two get into now?"

To prepare his parents for the unbelievable, Kyo expounded in graphic detail about the happenings of the morning to his parents' wide eyed surprise, ending with a statement so unexpected that he didn't know if his parents would take what he said as truth or not.

"Anyway," Kyo declared with his hand raised as if he were taking an oath in court on a stack of religious material, and a cautious tone in order to brace his parents for the unfathomable. "Gertrude Shortman was so mad while she was beating the daylights out of all of them, she couldn't even curse."

From the shared look his parents were giving him, Kyo knew they didn't believe him when he added, "She punched Tim Donovan square in the face, and called him a kitten fart." With a grimace, Kyo truthfully explained, "That was just for starters."

Phoebe's wide eyes were owl-like behind the lenses of her lavender framed spectacles as she whispered in shock from behind her hand, "Good heavens."

Feeling that it was a genuine miracle that any of the three football players were still alive, Gerald pondered the magnitude and scope of the anger that forbade Gertrude's use of her usual verbose palate of both existing, and self-manufactured foul language. As befitting such while he shook his head, Gerald Johannsen muttered the only suitable word to match his surprise.

"Damn."

Before Phoebe had a chance to chastise her husband for aiding his goddaughter's loss for words by proxy, the telephone rang, and Gerald answered it asking, "Hello?" Then his voice turned to excited concern, "How are you? I heard. Is Miles okay? Are you okay?"

Phoebe noticed Kyo's concerned expression turn to the realm of the ecstatic when he gathered that it was Gertie on the phone and smiled.

The man handed the phone to Kyo and he exclaimed, "Hey, Ducky!" The boy blushed and explained, "I know you hate it, but it's so cute!" Phoebe and Gerald gave each other a glance as Kyo held the receiver away from his ear, when the loud voice subsided, the boy asked hurriedly with great excitement, "I can? I have to ask; well, we're having a thing tonight."

Kyo looked at his parents. "When does the barbecue start, Dad?"

Gerald yelled out so that Gertie could hear through the receiver, "Seven o'clock."

Without thinking, Kyo blurted out, "I'm coming over, and I'll tell you all about it when I get there!"

However, when he hung up the phone, Kyo suddenly realized that his parents might want his help with preparations for the barbecue, and looked at them with an abashed smile.

Before the lovesick boy could ask forgiveness, or beg favor, Phoebe looked at Gerald with a grin, and the understanding father motioned with his head to his son to go on ahead and see his friends. Gerald figured that Kyo would be so distracted; the poor boy wouldn't be able to get anything done anyway.

Running towards the fence, Kyo blurted out, "Thanks!" easily vaulted over the low gate, and took off like a streak towards Vine Street. His voice getting more distant by the moment, Kyo loudly announced, "I'll try to get back as soon as I can!"

Gerald shook his head, shrugging with a grin, "Hormones."

Phoebe simply shared her husband's knowing smile; plopped down two, one dozen roll packages of hot dog buns down on the picnic table, and wondered how long it was going to take Kyo to make a move.

* * *

Whenever Kyo went on foot to the Shortman house, he passed a wonderful store called "McKinstry's" that everyone seemed to love.

The small business sold used books, compact discs, DVDs, vinyl records, and didn't charge too much for them, even the more rare stuff that was hard to find.

People could go into the store, buy books and media, and sell the same for ether cash or trade credit, and it was a teen friendly place.

The generous owner didn't care if kids came in only to look, loiter, read, or listen, just as long as they didn't have sticky fingers and take things without paying for them first.

Kyo spent a lot of time with his friends there rummaging through the dollar and fifty cents racks hoping to find a jewel in the more undesirable piles of things. Added to that, every once and awhile the free shelf would have something good to take home, and it was worth his while to look inside every chance he got.

Everyone he knew loved to go to the bookstore and tried to get a good deal on a book, music, or movie, but the charming owner was the real draw to the shop.

Only a fool would not fall in love with his personality and kind demeanor after just one conversation.

The boy knew he should get over to the Shortman's so he could do his inviting, and get back home to help his parents prepare for their barbecue later in the evening, but Kyo checked his watch, saw that he had a little more time than he thought, and decided to pop inside the store for a few minutes.

Pushing the door inwards, the cowbell attached to it rang and Kyo stepped inside to smell the familiar scent of old paper while scanning his eyes over the new arrivals shelves. He looked upwards when he heard a familiar warm voice greet with great affection and care in his gentle, but gritty native Irish brogue, "Hey there, Kyo, what's shakin' bacon?"

The boy turned to look at the man behind the counter. He was tall, white, and had on a smile on his face that was suspiciously satisfied looking for some reason. So that no one would ever doubt his love for generation one Transformers, or have any lingering doubts as to his faction affiliation, the man proudly sported black t-shirts with gigantic purple Decepticon symbols on them almost every day of his life.

As nice as he was, Kyo never would have pegged him as a 'Con. "Not much, Commander Megatron, how are you?"

The kind Irish man asked with a lilt in his beautiful native brogue, accentuated with a wink, "Well, I can't complain, Kiddo, and I try to find somethin' every day." As the man laughed, he looked around, and was obligated to ask with mischief on his voice, "Where's that pretty girl a'yours at?"

Kyo blushed at the happy idea of Gertie actually being his girlfriend, and addressed the kind man by his real name, "She's not my girl, Mark."

Mark rubbed his shaved chin, and said with a voice of wise caution, "Uh huh," The clever man said with a confidence Kyo didn't posses, "She's not your girl yet, Love Son."

The boy looked to the side feeling sort of embarrassed, somewhat ashamed, and wholly foolish, because it seemed that everyone in the world knew about his affection for Gertrude Shortman but her. Kyo informed solemnly, "Gertie and Miles had to go home early today, and I doubt you'll see them this weekend."

Mark asked with concern on his voice, "They ain't sick are they?"

Kyo then regaled the lively British import with the happenings of the day, and the man rubbed his buzz cut head, announcing with great certainty. "I reckon I better not call her 'Ducky' anymore either, right, Chief?" Completely in the realm of possibility, Mark pondered, "She might get herself a wild hair, haul off, and beat the crap right out a'me too."

The boy laughed, "She loves you, Marky, I think you could call Gertie anything under the sun you wanted to, and she wouldn't get mad." Kyo then picked up a paper back book to the side of the cash register to thumb through, but not really reading it.

Mark lifted his finger acting as if he had stumbled upon a new idea that was really a month old, and said, "I got something in not too long ago and thought about you, Kiddo. I held it back on the off chance you'd come in, it bein' Friday and all."

Kyo joked, "A stack of Playboys?"

"HAH! I'd be keepin' those for myself, Kid." Mark replied with a knowing wink. "No," The thoughtful man continued with ideas brewing in his brilliant mind, "This, Boyo." The thoughtful man said as he reached under the counter to pick something up off a low shelf, and plopping it unceremoniously onto the cluttered countertop for Kyo to peruse.

The surprised boy's eyes bugged out at the volume that the kind man placed in front of him as he thumbed through it. It was a hardbound collection of art prints by the nineteenth century Japanese artist Hiroshige, and his renderings of the ancient city Edo, now called Tokyo.

Other than the dust jacket being slightly torn, the book itself was in extremely good condition.

The flabbergasted boy said with surprise, "This is really nice, Mark, when did you get that in?"

The scheming man had it for a long time, but he had just been waiting for the right time, and opportunity to give it to the boy. Mark really liked Kyo, and was of a mind to help him get Gertrude and the young man before him together romantically.

Both kids were crazy about each other, it was obvious, all they both needed was just a little push to get started, and Mark was determined to kick them down the steps of love, or die trying.  
"All that matters is that its here now, Lad." The crafty man said with a smile and continued, "Our Gertie is a lover of Japanese culture ain't she now, and I thought it would be the perfect gift for you to give her." Admiring his own cleverness, Mark added, "'Sides, with th'day she's had, Gertie will get a'bit 'o cheer from somethin' like this, won't she?"

Mark was right, but already knowing he couldn't afford it; Kyo asked anyway, "How much do you want for it?" The financially embarrassed boy rifled around in his pocket, got out his wallet, and looked inside, but unfortunately, after lunch at school, there were still only six dollars left inside of it.

The kind man walked around the counter and put the book into Kyo's hands. "Well now, seein' as it's for you, gratis."

The boy looked at the generous man with a ready protest on his lips, but Mark silenced him before he could say a word. "I said it was free, end of discussion. I owe you a favor anyway, because you found that accessory for Fortress Maximus I needed and y'didn't charge me for it."

Kyo said truthfully, "Gertie is the one who found, bought, and gave it to you as a gift; I just delivered it when she was too sick to."

Mark shrugged, "Well then, just give this t'Gertie for me by proxy, and don't tell her I gave it to her." The man said with a sly wink.

The grateful young man could only say a heartfelt, "Thank you so much, Mark, I don't know what to say."

The man patted the boy on the shoulder and kindly replied, "You just said enough, Son." Mark said with a lilt as he produced a permanent black marker for his latest romantic meddling project, tapping on the book with it, "Now you come up with something heart stoppin' clever to write in there, while I go in back and rustle up some nice paper to wrap that book with."

As Kyo thought, and began to write upwards in Kanji, the shop owner rifled through his assorted tissue and wrappings, finally finding something he felt was fitting, regal, and beautiful; both reminiscent of his bonny island home, and the girl who was to receive the gift. As he pulled down the exquisite roll of gold and metallic green striped paper, Mark's voice was muffled from the back as he said, "Make sure you say that y'love her somewhere in there, Kyo!"

As Kyo looked down at his inscription in his partial ancestor's native tongue on the first page of the book, and he was glad Gertrude couldn't read it, because he already had.

When a loud rattle of objects falling to the floor resounded to the front of the desk, the boy yelled towards the back, "Hey, Mark, you okay?"

As a response, the boy heard a word of curse the man had created for himself from an episode of Transformers. "Astoria!"

After hearing that, Kyo knew his benefactor was fine.

A short time later, the book was painstakingly wrapped, complete with a gold seal embossed with the name of the store along with a red ribbon placed on the corner of the gift. With a self-satisfied smile, Mark handed the book to the boy.

As a bonus, along with the book and the afterthought of a big bag of delicious Jelly Babies the girl relished, the wise man also passed along some much needed advice to the young man as well. "There isn't anythin' in this world more costly than regret, Kyo, so you go and tell that girl how y'feel about her right now." Kyo's eyebrows rose when Mark added, "Don't fart around with it, just do it, and if you're thinking you're not good enough for her, you are!" With full faith in Kyo, Mark nodded, "You'll appreciate, love, and treat her more right than any other man could or would."

Mark ended with a huff, "Certainly better than that tool Tim Donovan, that's for damn sure." Kyo's eyes widened when Mark forwarded the theory, "If he were a Transformer, he'd be Wheelie 'cause he sucks!"

Kyo smiled at Mark as he walked him to the door, putting his hand on his back, more or less pushing him out of it. With a bit of wise observation garnered by age and experience, Mark told Kyo what he observed as the truth. "I have a feeling that Gertie's got a'lovin' for you too, Boyo, it's just that her wee heart's been bruised, and she's a bit cautious t'jumping back into the pool of love."

Mark winked, "I think she'll dip her toe in th'water for you though, Lad." The man said with his stout arms crossed and a squinted eye, "Now, get up off your girl's favorite word, and go get her, 'cause she's a'waitin' for ya'!"

* * *

With that, Kyo's heart was full of hope as he almost ran to her house.

With an exuberance fed by hope and anxiety, Kyo thundered up the steps of the Shortman house to ring the doorbell.

As he stood waiting for someone to answer the door, the breeze shifted, and he scrunched his nose, because there was a terrible stink pouring from the kitchen window, the aura steadily growing worse with each moment he spent on the stoop.

When the impatient boy didn't get an immediate answer to his one ring, he began to press the doorbell repeatedly, in an excessive amount, desperately seeking escape.

When the big green door finally opened, Arnold smiled, and pointed at the lit button, commenting with humor, "Thanks for doing the six month test on the doorbell for us, Kyo, we didn't know if it worked anymore." Before the boy could say anything or tender an apology, the laughing man turned his back to Kyo, and yelled through the house, and up the stairs in the house, "Miles, Gertie, the Spanish Inquisition is here!"

Gertrude yelled down, "Put him in the comfy chair!"

Kyo laughed as he walked inside, his sense of smell relieved, and Arnold politely questioned while looking down into the crook of the boy's arm, curious as to what he was trying to unsuccessfully veil from his sight. Wondering if it were for his daughter, Arnold queried, "How are your mom and dad doing today, 'K?

The boy clutched the green wrapped package closer to his side trying to hide it from Arnold, along with the bag of candy. "They sent me over to invite all of you to a barbecue at the house tonight. Kyo furtively glanced behind Arnold when he added, "It starts at seven and you're all more than welcome to come if you want."

Arnold raised his head in understanding, choosing to distract Kyo because he didn't want to embarrass the boy. "I didn't catch the game, but I gather Jamie-O won, huh?"

Kyo smiled and added with excitement, "Yeah, but it'll be fun, Timberly, Jamie O, and my cousins are all going to be there," The boy saved the ultimate enticement to attend for last, "Dad's also cooking his famous ribs!"

Arnold couldn't help but notice that Kyo was searching behind him in a distracted manner, presumably for his daughter, when the boy asked with an obvious amount of self-interested hope, "Are you going to come?"

Helga popped her head out of the kitchen door, then walked over to Kyo and gave him a tight hug. "Hey, Sweetie. Barbeque, huh?"

When she released the boy, Arnold glanced at his wife, who in turn had a sideways smile that she couldn't keep from her lips. Arnold regretfully informed as he placed his arm around her waist, "Well, Kyo, we've already made some plans for the evening we can't break, but Miles and Gertie are more than available for Johannsen shenanigans tonight."

Helga added looking directly her husband with squinted eyes, "Even though Arnold and I aren't coming," Arnold cocked an eyebrow at her, "Please make sure to tell your mom that we have plenty of mayonnaise if you run out tonight."

As the husband and wife had a silent discourse of looks, ending in a stalemate, Kyo's eyes stared past Helga and Arnold when he saw the object of his secret affections step down on the landing with her brother following after.

Pretty anywhere, he couldn't take his eyes off Gertie, and was in a world of his own with a grin plastered to his face.

Helga and Arnold turned to look at what had grabbed the boy's interest so firmly, and then the couple smiled at each other. Helga, noticing the wrapped gift and bag of Gertie's favorite imported candy that the boy was desperately trying to hide, made an excuse for her and Arnold to leave. "If it's okay with you, we'll leave you three to chat." The kind woman closed the front door, and pointed her thumb towards the smelly kitchen addressing Kyo, "You know you're welcome to raid the 'fridge, cabinets, breadbox, whatever, and we have a big honking cake too if you want a slice or ten." Kyo looked at Mrs. Shortman strangely, as Arnold cut Helga a nasty look when the welfare of his precious little cake was threatened.

"C'mon, Football Head," Kyo tried not to laugh when he heard the legendary nickname. "You can help me in the kitchen."

Arnold smirked, "We don't have any lead jackets, and I'm not hazardous materials disposal technician trained, Sweetie." Grabbing his hand, Helga cut him a dangerous look, and walked into the kitchen with him following in tow.

Soon Kyo and the siblings went into the sitting room, and turned on the television to watch cartoons while they talked.

Kyo turned his attention to Gertie's hand, and asked with concern, "That looks like it hurts, can you bend it?"

Gertie demonstrated, "A little, but its okay."

Kyo looked at Miles' face, and remarked with the attempt not to be rude by calling attention to his swollen, deformed face, "Miles, buddy, are you okay?"

Taking a page from Gertie, the boy shrugged it away in the same fashion as he did with his parents. "I'm fine, believe me, Pal, I'm glad that it looks a whole lot worse than it really is." Interested, and wanting to hear from a dependable source rather than through rumor, Miles' curiosity got the better of him, and asked with dread, "Well, what's the buzz at school? I know we've been talked about."

Gertie added shamefully after having the whole day to think about the ramifications of her own actions, "Everyone probably thinks that we're awful." Miles looked down, because his sister's statement brought his needless abuse of Courtney back to mind.

Kyo's eyes rolled upwards incredulously. "Are you kidding?" The boy shook his head, "All everyone at school has been talking about all day is how wonderful you two and Courtney are!"

The twins did a double take, and stared at their friend like he was nuts as he continued, "If you three are thinking of starting a cult at school, now would probably be a pretty good time to do it, because you have a ton of followers."

Kyo switched his index finger between Gertie and Miles, "Now, you two are just disciples but, Miss Gammelthorpe has attained godlike status." His eyes looking wide behind his gold wire rimmed glasses, Kyo made a grandiose, spreading gesture upwards with his hands. "Actually, some of the skater crowd really did spray paint Courtney Is God in bloody red on one of the bus ramp roof spanners with a huge A in a circle."

Gertie could easily see Miles as an already converted zealot. Her imagination running away with her, she could see her brother in the flowing black hooded robe of a high priest, officiating over religious services that required regular animal sacrifice to Courtney over metal serving trays full of flaming tater tots in the cafeteria. In addition, Miles' duties would also entail delivering the sacrament of ketchup, and the placement of holy sporks into the hands of the faithful.

Bursting out into loud laughter for seemingly no reason at all, Kyo gave Gertie a wary eye, whereas Miles gave his sister a dirty look, because despite the fact that she said nothing, he knew Gertie was somehow having a laugh at his expense.

Soon enough, Gertie returned Miles' hateful glare, and seeing that the silent battle of wills was not going to end any time soon, Kyo dragged the siblings away from a potential slap fight with a topic that would completely distract them. "The word on campus is that the principal didn't do anything to any of the goons, but you two got a three day vacation, is that right?"

The siblings nodded at their friend as Miles scowled. "Yeah and it's not fair either! Not only were James, Tim, and Todd not punished for what they did to Courtney; Cashwell was also going to expel us from school."

The shared friend adjusted in his seat in astonishment and exclaimed, "Expelled? Like out for good expelled?"

Gertie nodded, and irreverently acknowledged their mother's saving of their hides. "Yeah, but mom talked to him, and somehow got the old asshole to re-consider."

As Miles cackled, Kyo secretively looked around for eavesdropping adults before asking in a whisper, "Did your mom and dad punish you too?"

Gertie lowered herself and whispered, "Yeah, but not bad, we're both grounded except for work until we're finished staining the fence outside on both sides starting tomorrow. We can't take calls, use the internet, or go anywhere except for work until we're finished with the fence too, but we're free and clear for tonight though."

Miles asked in ill hidden, hopeful elation as his never satisfied stomach growled, "I heard you're having a barbecue or something revolving around mass quantities of food tonight?"

Gertie rolled her eyes upwards at her shameless chow hound brother for rudely inviting himself, as Kyo's excited eyes lit up, "Oh yeah! It starts at seven!" Focusing more on Gertie than Miles, Kyo wondered hopefully, "Can you guys come?" Then he threw in an added incentive for attendance, "Timberly is going to be there!"

Miles and Gertie's eyes lit up, but then the blonde boy shook his head negatively, "I'd love to, but I have to work register tonight until nine, and I might have to be on the clean up crew too. I'm not sure if I'll be able to come or not."

Gertie shrugged, "I have to be at the comic shop by seven, and baby-sit my fellow pulp nerds until nine too since its Friday night." She tactfully looked around for her mother before she mentioned in a hushed tone, "Mom is also making something special for us to eat tonight, so we can't slide over to your house, and eat before work either."

Miles and Gertie both made a face as the blonde boy continued, "We have to stay here and eat it too, or else it will really hurt her feelings."

Gertie had a faraway, somewhat frightened look on her face as she said in a heartfelt, but clearly downhearted tone, "Yeah." She appreciated her well meaning mother's attempt at doing something kind for them, but Gertie also realized that the road to hell was paved both ways with good intentions, and her mother's goulash was the asphalt.

They'd have heartburn until they were out of college.

Kyo asked in a shocked manner, "That's food?" Then he instantly felt bad for showing disrespect to his friends' mother. "I'm sorry, Guys, I didn't mean to insult your mom; I mean most of the time her cooking is really good." He eyed the doorway of the kitchen across from the room and whispered, "It's just that, that, odor."  
Miles shook his head, and let their friend off the hook with a dismissive hand gesture, "It's okay, 'K, don't worry about it." He pointed his thumb towards his sister. "Gertie said it smelled like ass this afternoon herself."

Kyo gave his friend a look, "You say everything smells like that, 'Gert."

Gertie ended the exchange quite nicely, "If the two of you don't shut up, I'll kick both your asses!"

Both boys burst out into loud laughter at Gertrude's expense as she got up in a huff, and asked with feigned irritation, "Do either one of you want something to drink?"

The boys laughed louder, and then Miles said, "I want a Yahoo."

Gertie said, "Shut up!" Miles frowned, and crossed his arms as she sweetly smiled at their guest. "Would you like a Yahoo, 'K?"

The boy nodded, "I'd love one, Ducky!" Gertie cut her green eyes at the boy she had a crush on, and then gently patted her laughing brother on the shoulder. "Do you want it in the bottle, or on the rocks, Monkeyman?"

The brother responded, "On the rocks."

The guest said, "Bottled is fine for me."

With that, Gertie left for the kitchen to prepare the snacks, leaving the two boys alone.

After a glance into the hallway for safety to make sure Gertie wasn't eavesdropping, Kyo wondered, "Think she'll poison it?"

Miles assumed, "Nah, if she ever really wanted to kill either one of us, she would use her bare hands so she could really enjoy it." As Kyo nodded at the truth in the statement, Miles looked over his friend's shoulder, and nodded upwards at a foreign object of interest. "What's that on the end table over there?"

He scooted closer to Miles and whispered, "Something for Gertie."

Miles crossed his arms looking upwards as he pretended to be both extremely hurt and jealous. "I see you didn't bring me anything."

The boy gave Miles a strange look as his friend laughed like a maniac at his expression, and then Kyo shook his head, looked around, then whispered, "I want to talk to Gertie about something." He looked upwards not wanting to sound rude, but Kyo also did not want to leave any confusion about his intentions. "Alone, you know."

Miles raised an eyebrow to his friend then added a wink. "About time, Romeo."

Kyo's eyes widened, but before he could say anything about keeping quiet about it in case he lost his nerve, Gertie was back, and carrying a tray with a large bowl of popcorn and sodas on it into the living room. After serving their guest first, Gertie gave her brother his specially prepared drink second, and then sat down between the two of them to watch their favorite badly dubbed into English, edited to death Japanese cartoon from the early 1980's.

"What in the hell were they thinking?" Gertie asked as she burst into a wicked giggle. "The best part is that the robot soldiers call Devleen 'Ma'am Sir,'" Gertie said as she shook her head.

Kyo grimaced, "You kind of have to appreciate the Japanese sense of humor."

Miles added in complete deadpan, "Well, at least he she is never lonely on a Saturday night." The naughty boy added in an insinuated tone, "Actually, I think that Devleen might have a pretty good chance of doing what Courtney told Cashwell that he could do to himself this morning."

Gertie and Kyo stopped eating to stare at their respective friend and sibling, throwing a few kernels of popped corn apiece at him for good measure. In turn, Miles simply asked with a mouth full of popcorn, "What?"

As Aphrodite-A, the robot piloted by the damsel in distress girl in the series, Jessica, fired off her only weapons, two strategically placed rockets in her chest; Gertie pointed at the television. "I bet you two wouldn't mind dating a rock solid chick like that!" As Kyo and Miles turned to face her, she expounded, "She's the total package, and has all the things that you boys love." With a wicked grin, Gertie finished, "Explosions and fire, mixed all together in two great big 'Ol dangerous boobs!"

Gertie smiled when the customarily smart aleck boys had nothing to say to her statement in response, highly satisfied with her efforts, she threw a piece of popcorn into the air, and deftly caught it with her sharp tongue.

All too soon, the cartoon was over, but with a half a bowlful of popcorn still left, and Miles not even close to finishing his drink, he stretched and made an excuse to leave. "I think I'm going to mosey on upstairs and get some rest before work."

Gertie twitched a suspicious eyebrow at her brother, because Miles could put a swarm of locusts to shame, very seldom did he ever leave a room before any food sitting in it was completely gone.

There were times in which she wondered if her brother would eat the carpet if given half a chance, and looking at the end table, it still had gnaw marks on it from when he was a baby and teething.

It was only then did Gertie notice the neatly wrapped item, and a bag of her favorite candy sitting on the edge of it.

Miles dragged Gertie out of her musings with, "Thanks for coming over and letting us know what's going on, 'K. When do you think it will be acceptable for me to come tonight, or when will it be too late?"

Kyo responded, "Hey, it's Friday night, everybody's going to be there, and don't worry about coming in late, the festivities won't even think about winding down until around midnight." Seeing Miles' eyes searching for reassurance, Kyo promised, "And don't worry, Buddy, there will be plenty of food and dessert left, so come when you can."

Gertie rolled her eyes at Miles' nearly demented looking grin, "I'll try to make it over after work." Miles put his hands together in a beseeching manner, "Please just save me some of your dad's ribs, okay?" Brightly he ended, "I'll gladly pay you!"

Kyo shared a look with Gertie, picked up the leather thong around his neck, grasped the shiny pendant that swung at the bottom as his Viking forbears once did, and pinched the brass ring that attached it. "I swear you'll get some ribs, Miles." Shaking his head, he muttered, "Jeez."

After the oath, Miles and his friend shared their secret handshake, a complicated mix of finger, and hand holds, then the injured boy left the room. Turning, and making sure his sister hadn't seen him, the considerate boy mouthed 'good luck' to his best friend, and then carried his half-filled glass upstairs with him to give them some privacy.

Left alone at last, and after a few tactful minutes passed, the thoughtful boy suggested to his friend nervously, "Close your eyes and hold out your hands, Gertie."

The girl eyed her friend with suspicion, "The last time I did that, you put a baby green snake in my hands."

Kyo promised in frustration knowing she would never completely forgive him for that childhood trespass, "I swear it's not a legless reptile this time, honest."

Gertie obeyed, and the nervous boy slipped the wrapped book into her outstretched hands with the bag of candy resting on top of it. "Okay, Gertie, open them."

"I love jelly babies!" She exclaimed, and then asked in curiosity as she rubbed the paper-covered gift, "What's this, though?"

He simply replied, "Well, it's a gift." With a smile, Kyo requested with expectation, "Open it."

Gertie put the bag of candy down beside her, and painstakingly opened the green and gold paper wrapping around the hidden object to preserve it because it was too pretty to rip to shreds.

When she had the paper off, to the relieved boy's delight, the object of his affection's eyes lit up. "Oh, Kyo, its so beautiful," Truly touched, but feeling guilty he had spent his hard earned money on her, Gertie held the book up for him to take back as she admitted, "I don't deserve this!"

Kyo shook his head and gently pushed the present back towards her. "Yes you do! You've had a really rough day today, and if anyone deserves a present, it's you."

Excited, Gertie began thumbing through the lovely book relishing the vivid renderings of the city of her dreams, ancient Edo. "Thank you so much for this!" Absentmindedly, she genuinely gushed, "I'll treasure it always."

Blushing, Kyo modestly said, "You're welcome."

Thrilled to have something so special that Kyo had picked out just for her, Gertie folded the leaves back to the first page in the book, and the inquisitive girl asked the boy poetically, "I know that's your writing, 'K, so what does it say?"

Kyo's face flushed, and he looked down at the striped of the couch they were sitting on. He didn't have a backdoor to dart out of, so he just decided to pluck up his nerve and let things happen as they would.

The boy started out nervously, "Um, well, it says," but Kyo's throat seized when the doorbell rang.

Gertie held up her index finger. "Hold that thought, 'K, that's probably Jella and Andrea, I'll be back." Feeling foolish for acting like such a girl in front of Kyo, and wishing she had not called her friends, Gertie quickly exited the room to answer the frantic knocks, and repetitive ringing, but her mother beat her to the door and opened it.

As two of her best friends spilled into the foyer, they began to plead for hers and Miles' life loudly and emphatically. Glancing at her mother, then her friends, Gertie groaned internally, hoping that they weren't batting a thousand as usual, and made matters worse rather than better.

The tallest of the two girls, Jella, Sheena and Eugene's daughter began the urgent proceedings.

"Mrs. Shortman, please don't be mad at Miles and Gertie, it wasn't their fault what happened at all, and it was just awful what James, Tim, and Todd did to Courtney Gammelthorpe! They all deserved tons worse that what they got!"

Andrea nodded at Jella's word, and testified, "That's right! James Barber started the whole doo doo covered thing, and then Tim and Todd joined in!" She held up her hand, "I swear it's the truth, just call Stinki, she'll tell you what happened, because she was there and saw it, and we did too!"

Gertie turned her head to the side when she heard her father's loud, guffawing laughter exit the kitchen as something clattered to the floor, and Abner ran out squealing.

Helga was laughing too, but Gertie had her face hidden in her hand as Arnold stepped into the foyer to enjoy the witness to the defense while his wife tried to calm the girls with her palms raised. "We both know all the true circumstances behind the incident this morning, and everything is gravy, Girls." Arnold laughed at the expression on the girls' urgent faces.

Jella lowered her raised hand and haltingly answered, "I, well, that's good."

Glad to see everything was okay, Andrea's eyes lit up, and she regaled Arnold and Helga of their son and daughter's actions that morning with tainted relish. "Oh, my God, you should have seen it, Mr. and Mrs. S!" The girl began making punches in the air, and had a demented grin on her face as she expounded. "Miles socked James Barber in the face so hard he looked like my pug, and Gertie completely and totally kicked all of their,"

As Miles groaned from upstairs, Gertrude, who was standing behind her mother and father, clenched her teeth together, and then made a dramatic cutting motion across her neck, signaling to the excited girl to shut the hell up, and quit trying to help them.

Andrea gathered herself emotionally, and added nonchalantly, "It wasn't a big deal though, and nobody at school has said much about Miles and Gertie at all." Shaking her head in defeat, Gertie went back to the sitting room as Jella elbowed Andrea in the arm, and in turn, the smarting girl began to rub it, all the while giving her girlfriend a nasty look.

Helga bit back a smile as Arnold looked at Jella strangely, then Harold and Patty's girl somewhat funny too. Her husband did not know the true nature of the relationship between the two girls, but she certainly did.

It was hard to miss, as she had caught the two young women in love hidden behind the tall stacked bails of straw at the French club's cheese festival booth last year.

Helga remembered the horror her presence was greeted with, caught with no alternate excuse they could easily explain away, because what they were doing, looked exactly like what they were doing, and not CPR practice as Andrea tried to claim.

The look of surprise both girls gave her was even more interesting when Helga told them that their relationship wasn't any of her business, and that no, she wasn't going to tell their parents or anyone else; that it was their little secret.

It was not shortly after that incident that Helga learned that Gertie had gotten the girls standing in front of her together romantically in the first place. Frankly, that was the only aspect of the relationship that surprised Helga, because at the time, her daughter did not strike her as either an advisor to the lovelorn, or a matchmaker.

Soon, the doorbell rang again, but Arnold opened it this time, and he was greeted by the sight of a slender young woman wearing a purple jogging suit and a wide brimmed straw hat drinking strawberry milk out of a paper, two pint carton. "Well, look who it is." Brightly Arnold invited, "Come on in, Milk Girl!"

The cute brunette wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, stepped inside from the stoop, and politely asked, "How are you doing, Mr. Shortman?"

Arnold shrugged, "I'm doing pretty good, how are you?"

The young lady peered down into her light container, lightly shook it from side to side, and hinted shamelessly, "Well, I'm almost out of milk."

"That bad, huh?" Arnold joked with a strange smile on his face, the girl was nice enough, even sweet, but he had to admit she was a little odd too, kind of like his cousin Arnie. "How's your mom and dad doing?"

The girl didn't say anything verbally as she was gulping the last bit of liquid from her container, but she gave the questioning man a thumb up while looking over her container.

As the young lady shook the spout over her tongue to get every drop of liquid from the container, Arnold scratched his head, "Well, that's good." Kim said she wasn't, but Arnold still wondered if she was related to John somewhere along familial lines. Seeking to make some sort of conversation with the girl, Arnold noticed, "That's a nice hat you have there, I've never seen you wear that before."

Kim smiled, "Thank you, I borrowed it from Buttercup."

Arnold's eyes widened and he said in shock as he noticed the two large holes cut in the brim of the hat, large enough for ears to fit through. "That old horse in the park?"

"Well, it pulls my outfit together, and it's pretty." The girl shrugged, "I promised I'd give it back to him tomorrow, and Buttercup was okay with it because he let me take it off his head."

Shaking her head as she watched from the background, and deciding that no amount of therapy she specialized in could help the girl, Helga took the empty milk carton from the eclectically dressed girl's hand. "Would you like some mayonnaise, Kim?" Arnold cut his green eyes at her when she ended nonchalantly, "It's sort of like milk."

Helga chuckled when Kim declared theatrically, with a face twisted in complete disgust with her tongue stuck out, "That's just crazy!" Shuddering at the prospect, she wondered, "Who in their right mind would just eat straight mayonnaise right out of the container?"

Helga eyed Arnold, "Well," The smart aleck woman paused for effect, "No one in their right mind." Ignoring her husband's dirty look, Helga looked for her daughter, noting her absence, then informed, "Gertie and Kyo are in the sitting room." All three girls shared sly, knowing glances as Helga finished. "There's more popcorn and drinks on the way; and you know where the milk and assorted syrups are, Kim, so why don't you all go on inside and enjoy yourselves?"

Being clever enough to distract Gertie from her earlier question before being interrupted, Kyo watched in abject fear of becoming flotsam, as an ocean of loud, giggling girls crashed into the sitting room like an unforgiving tsunami wave to engulf them.

As the girls began to speak in deafening tones all at once, shrieking with unchecked happiness about Gertie's morning conquests, the disappointed, but slightly relieved boy thought that perhaps maybe this was an omen that this wasn't the best time to tell Gertie how he felt about her.

It was a good excuse to leave, however, and Kyo was determined to take advantage of it.

After a few minutes of conversation, Kyo politely made an excuse to leave the undertow of estrogen-fueled gossip before he fell victim to drowning in it, and gratefully headed for the door.  
As her mother brought more drinks and popcorn into the room for the girls to devour like piranhas on the scent of blood, Gertie excused herself as well, following Kyo.

After catching him in the hallway as he had the front door open to leave, the failure of his dramatic attempt swimming through his mind, he abashedly rubbed his neck, and asked his friend with a painful smile, "So, do you think you're coming tonight?"

Gertie nodded and said with a sure tone, "I will definitely be there, 'K." Considerately, she wondered, "Do I need to bring anything, like a dessert, or some heavy sedatives for your ass wild cousins?"

Kyo laughed, "No, we have plenty of desserts, and large, heavy objects for that." With a smile, Kyo advised, "Just bring you, Shortman." Kyo looked down at the floor, then back at Gertie with his mouth open ready to say something, but abruptly stopped while looking in behind her. In turn, Gertie spun to look in behind herself as the three eavesdropping girls yanked their heads out of the doorway of the living room.

The two kids in the hall then looked at each other, and Gertie rolled her eyes muttering, "God, they are so nosy." which made Kyo smile.

Usually in parting, they would give one another a high five, but today, the sweet boy instead took Gertie's injured hand into his tenderly, and pressed his soft lips onto the raised, bluing flesh with gentle care. "I know you won't, but at least try to keep some ice on that." With a smile, trying out the smooth, deep voice that he had been practicing in his bathroom mirror with for an occasion such as this, Kyo ended, "I'll see you later, okay?"

Gertie looked into Kyo's handsome face, and studied his bright, beautiful brown eyes, feeling warm, and a little embarrassed that she had to search for something to say. "Yeah, later, 'K." She girl added with red tinted cheeks, "Thanks again for the book, Kyo, I really love it!"

The blushing boy modestly dismissed, "It was nothing. I'll see you later, okay?"

Gertie affirmed with a gigantic grin, "Definitely later, 'K."

As the boy turned to leave with a wave, Gertie pretended to close the door as he tromped down the steps, but once she was sure he wasn't looking back behind him as he walked on the sidewalk, she cracked the door a little more so she could watch him leave.

When Kyo was out of sight, the girl lightly sighed, closed the door softly, and then turned around to answer a ringing phone that was probably for her, and tend to her noisy guests too; as the din in the living room was reaching a high decibel level.

Unknown to Kyo, and Gertie, Arnold had witnessed their entire exchange.

Disappointed, Kyo walked down the sidewalk towards his house, thinking about Miss Shortman, and kicking himself mentally at what a failure he was.

He was there, dang it, the mountaintop of almost telling her how he felt, but ultimately he couldn't because there was a bunch of other people there and he didn't want them to hear, especially Andrea and Jella.

Feeling foolish, Kyo was somewhat glad the others showed up too. If there weren't anyone there, and he did say something, he probably would have just sounded like an idiot anyway, so there was no point. The boy kicked himself internally his cowardice, labyrinthine thought processes, and wondered if he were insane.

Kyo was certainly doing a good job of convincing the people around him that he was insane because as he walked, he talked to himself.

The fact that the poor young man was hitting himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand numerous times was the most unnerving aspect of his behavior, and people on the sidewalk were avoiding him like the plague.

At least Gertie seemed to have really liked the book, and that earned him some Campfire Lass points.

* * *

Soon, Kyo was home and helping his parents prepare for their barbecue, and as Gerald tossed him a bag of charcoal briquettes to neatly stack under the grill grates, he asked with more than just passing interest, "Well, Son, who's coming over tonight?"

The boy answered, "Miles has to work tonight, and said he might not be able come over later, but trust me, he'll find a way." With a shrug, he reported, "Arnold and Helga said they already made plans for tonight and aren't coming for sure, but if we needed any mayonnaise to call and let them know."

Gerald gave his son a strange look, but Phoebe was more concerned when she asked trying to not sound too vested in the answer, "What about Gertie?"

Kyo smiled looking extremely happy, and with that, his mother was relieved. "Gertie said she would definitely be over after work." Then the boy said with caution, missing his parents' knowing glance, "Gertie and Miles both said that they would have come over early for dinner, but their mom is fixing something special for them to eat tonight, and they didn't want to hurt her feelings." The boy admitted with a measure of respect for his godmother, "It smelled kind of off."

Phoebe and Gerald looked up at each other in horror and sympathy for Arnold and his poor helpless children as they said in unison, "Goulash."

* * *

After her friends left, Gertie climbed the steps upstairs, and went to her room with a cold gel pack on her hand, partly because it hurt, but mostly because of Kyo's request.

The first thing Gertie saw when she opened the cracked door was her cat, Chewie, who was stretched out over the middle of her twin bed taking up just enough room for there to be nowhere for her to lie down or sit comfortably.

Gertie jiggled the bed slightly with her foot, but the relaxed cat craned its neck around to watch one of the things that gave it food walk around the end of the bed.

Noticing that the lazy feline was in no hurry to move, or even slightly interested in the prospect, with a sigh, Gertie looked at her pet and politely asked while looking upwards, "Can you move, Chewie? Please? I wouldn't ask you usually, but I'm not feeling so hot right now."

The shaggy brown cat merely twitched one of her hind legs, and yawned before stretching into a more comfortable position that fanned all of her too many toes out, taking up even more room on the bed. Soon enough, the idle animal closed her eyes in complete disregard the seating needs of her mistress to settle back into another warm nap.

Gertie was tempted to move the thoughtless animal by force, but she thought that would be rude, so she simply left Chewie alone where she was, settling for the slightly uncomfortable corner of the bed that faced the window.

After absentmindedly watching traffic drive by for a few moments, she cracked the book her kind friend brought her to the front page, pondering the inscription and wondering what it said while opening the bag of jelly babies.

Restraint not being one of her stronger suits, Gertie picked through the bag, and popped one of the black looking pieces into her mouth first. "Oh, God, yes!" as the rich, gelatinous candy rolled over her tongue. In ecstasy, Gertie moaned, "Currant."

As the girl thumbed through the art book preoccupied with her thoughts of her friend, in the process devouring every delicious, forbidden tasting black piece in the package first, Arnold knocked on the closed door of his daughter's room, and asked, "'Hopper? Can I come in?"

The girls answered warmly, "Yeah, Dad, come on in."

When the man walked into his daughter's room, it didn't look as if it belonged to a girl, or a boy for that matter, but rather like he had stumbled upon the well-stocked display of a toy museum.  
Carded action figures were hanging from push pins stuck in sheets of cork hanging on the walls, and shelves of statuettes and busts still protected in their original boxes, that she had bought from her place of work, Atomic Comics, filled those to bursting.

What portions of the wall were not decorated with mint on card toys, or segmented by shelves, were plastered with posters.

There was a massive, life-sized poster of a red, light saber wielding Darth Vader beside Gertie's bed.

The poster of her favorite movie out of the first Star Wars trilogy, The Empire Strikes Back featuring Han Solo dipping Princess Leia into a scoundrel's kiss was on the wall on the other side of the bed.

The last poster, tacked over her bed, was the first person to earn a crush from his girl, a ruthless, clever man by the name of Boba Fett.

Arnold knew that Gertie had a wild streak, and he gathered that being a bounty hunter, Mr. Fett had a bad boy mystique that intrigued his daughter on a subconscious level.

The girl's most prized possession however, was hanging in a wood and glass frame inside a corner of the wall that didn't receive much sunlight. It was relatively small compared to the other hangings, but Gertie would trade nothing for it. It was a concert poster autographed to Gertie by the famous pop star Lilyana.

The woman's real name was Hannah Kokoshka, and she once lived in the boarding house as a child with her miscreant, ne'er do well father, Oskar. As such, Arnold had known Hannah ever since she was a baby, but Helga had come to know her as part of the Big Sis Little Sis program.

Never forgetting them, every time "Lilyana" played a concert in Hillwood City, the kind celebrity always made sure his children had backstage passes and free front seat tickets for themselves and their friends.

The father's eyes eventually settled on the brown cat that was lying on its back, looking up at him with two upside down, squinted green almond shaped eyes.

Arnold's hands were full with two plates, so he tickled the bottoms of Chewie's snowshoe like feet with his big toe, and then rubbed its fat, shaggy belly with the sole of his foot. Soon the animal growled, and was twitching its tail in irritation at Arnold, but when it gathered that he wasn't going to stop any time too soon, Chewie rolled over on her side, half-heartedly swiped at his naked foot with her paw, and left the room with an aggravated hiss.

The caring father then handed a plate with a small piece of black forest cake to his little girl and sat on the edge of her bed. The piece he handed Gertie had two red stemmed maraschino cherries on top of it, while his didn't have one at all.

He knew that Gertie was almost a grown woman, and would be leaving home sooner than he ever thought possible, but despite that, she would never stop being his little girl. Concerned with her physical state, as well as what he had borne witness to in the foyer earlier, Arnold lovingly patted her back, and then rubbed it asking, "Are you okay?"

Gertie looked up towards the ceiling, listening to the aurally muted song 'The Captain of Her Heart' playing for the fifth time since she had been upstairs, drifting down from her brother's attic room floor to the ceiling of hers. Gertie took a bite of cake, growled in a fashion not unlike her easily riled mother, and made a food muffled promise in great irritation, "I swear to God, Dad, if I have to listen to Miles' stupid crappy love songs on a loop all weekend, I'm going to go up there and kick his ass next!"

As Arnold listened to the girl's tough rhetoric, he realized that Gertie was truly her mother's daughter, absolutely no doubt about it.

Some people cried when upset, others shut themselves off, but Gertrude's filter to the world when under stress was foul language; and threats of physical violence that she never intended to carry out.

Arnold decided not to chastise his daughter for saying yet another bad word that day, but instead chose to defend her brother as he cut the first bite of his sweet, creamy cake. "Try to cut Miles some slack, okay? He's got a lot of stuff to work out." Gertie gave her father a strange look with a fork hanging out of her mouth when he finished with, "You know, concerning his feelings towards that young lady he is conflicted about."

Gertie was in shock, but didn't miss a trick as she responded dryly, "Miles isn't conflicted at all, and in fact he's pretty dang sure about her." The man's eyes widened as the girl continued, "How did you find out about it?"

"Well, I could kind of piece it together." Arnold smiled, wondering if he should, and in that moment, he thought of getting up and leaving, but decided to stay and maybe help his girl too. Arnold figured that he would be addressing the matter eventually.

Knowing very well where, the understanding father entered into the topic gently. "That's a nice book there, 'Gert, where did you get it?"

Arnold looked at the gigantic blue and white crested wave, which was one of the artist's better known renderings. Gertie said with a smiling blush that a father could not possibly miss, "Kyo got it for me; he also gave me this bag of jelly babies." The kind girl held the bag of delicious candies up and offered, "Want some?" Then she said abashedly, "I've already eaten all the currant ones."

Arnold scoffed as he took two orange ones out to the bag to greedily stuff into his mouth. "Sugar hound!" With a wink, he acknowledged, "Just like your old man."

Gertie laughed, and Arnold wondered how he was going to approach this, so he just began talking. "Kyo is a really nice boy."

Gertie said cautiously, "Yeah,"

"You two have known each other for a long time too, 'Hopper." He stated obviously.

Suspicious as to her father's intentions, and where he was going with this conversation, Gertie gave her father a funny look as Arnold looked upwards and added, "Well, it seems like to me that well," The man just blurted out, "You two would make a good cute little," He paused, but managed to squeeze out, despite his fatherly qualms, "Couple."

The girl put her hand on her forehead, and asked quietly, almost sheepishly, "You know how I feel about him don't you?"

Arnold rubbed the back of his neck, "Yeah, I kind of pieced that together too."

"Oh, God!" The girl groaned while grabbing a pillow, putting it over her face as if she were trying to smother herself.

Who else knew how she felt about her best friend? Was it that obvious?

Arnold patted her leg gently, and tried to comfort her, "I'm sorry, Sweetie, I didn't mean to embarrass you."

Gertie flung the pillow against her headboard in frustration. "I'm not embarrassed, Dad, I just feel stupid!"

Arnold asked, "Well why?"

The girl sat up, crossed her arms, and looked away from him. "I don't know."

The observant father advised, "Well I think Kyo likes you like that too."

Gertie asked with a shrug, "If he likes me like that, why doesn't he say anything?"

Arnold shrugged, "What's keeping you from saying something?"

The girl looked away, "I can't, because I've been there and done that already!" Gertie said with frustration, and self-directed anger, seasoned with sarcasm. "As we all know, that turned out just spectacular, didn't it?"

The understanding father nodded, not mentioning the name of the good for nothing boy that broke his beautiful girl's heart. "You're correct in being angry with him because he didn't do you right, Sweetheart, and I can well understand why you would be reticent to take another chance too." Gertie looked in her father's eyes, as he truthfully ended, "Kyo is not him, though".

The girl spilled her guts with added bitterness, "I can't go through that again, Dad, and I won't."  
Arnold asked seriously, "Do you think Kyo would ever treat you like that?"

Gertie looked her father in the eyes, almost angry that he would even entertain the thought of the gallant boy in their sitting room that afternoon being capable of doing such a dishonorable, cowardly thing. "No! He wouldn't ever do anything like that to anybody, especially to me!"

Arnold gave Gertie a few moments to let the truth he dug out of her settle in, and all the girl could muster to say was an obvious sounding, "Oh."

Arnold sat in silence next to his girl trying to think of the right thing to say.

After being raised by his interesting, yet eccentric grandfather Phil, and getting off the wall advice from him over the years, the only thing that sprang to mind at the moment for Arnold to say, other than never eat raspberries, was, "You know, Shortman, love is a lot like Chewie's litter box."

After receiving a comforting slap on the back, Gertrude Shortman slowly turned to her side, looking up at her well-meaning father like he was stark raving insane.

Arnold held up his hand and said, "Now bear with me." The girl considered it, but she still looked for the location of her door if she needed to exit it in a hurry as he spoke again. "Love isn't perfect, Honey, you have to work at it, and find the person you're supposed to be with."

Arnold waved his hand in front of himself dramatically as if he were divining the future. "You'll have lots of starts and finishes before you find the person you're meant to be with, but you can't begin looking for your soul mate if your love litter box is full of clumps."

Gertie stared blankly at her father as Arnold made a movement with his hand and arm as if he was shoveling. "You have to dig in there, Gertie, and scoop out those bad, stinky little relationship clumps, then flush them straight down the commode." The girl had the strangest look on her face that Arnold had seen in his entire life as he finished. "After you do that, you forget completely about them before you start a new relationship. There's no reason why you can't be the catalyst for something deeper with Kyo, and every new relationship is a fresh start."

When the girl was over her father's shocking metaphor enough to speak, she asked, "How did you tell mom that you were in love with her?"

Arnold sat in silence for a few moments thinking on how to do it, and then he told an abbreviated, extremely well trimmed version of the happenings of that fateful evening at the duplex by the ocean. "Well, I had been dating a girl named Ashley since high school, and that relationship carried over to college."

Gertie asked in interest, "What was she like?"

Arnold swept a dismissive hand away from himself. "Oh, Sweetie, I wouldn't want to frighten you."

As Gertie's eyes widened, her father shrugged, "Anyway, when your mom came back to Hillwood to go to State junior year, I was still seeing Ashley. Over time though, your mom and I became really good friends." Gertie smiled at her father's expression. "It didn't take much, or long for my feelings for your mother to become more," Arnold searched for the right word as he hummed with closed lips, then ended, "Complicated."

Arnold shook his head. "Time went on, and it got to the point to where all I thought about was Helga Geraldine Pataki, even though I was still with Ashley. Your mother still had the capability of driving me completely nuts, mind you, and I fought it tooth and nail, but with time, I fell for her hard, and it was excruciating, Gertie. I felt awful about being with Ashley, and thinking about your mother all the time, but I didn't want to just quit seeing Ashley because I felt like it wasn't right to just leave her to be with your mother." Cautiously he added, "Even then, though I had an idea she did, I wasn't sure that your mother felt the same way about me that I did for her, so I was afraid to say anything, which was both stupid, and incredibly wrong."

Arnold sighed and still felt shame for the way he handled the situation. "Eventually it got to the point where it hurt worse for me to hold off telling your mother my feelings for her, than it did worrying about hurting Ashley's feelings." Arnold shook his head. "Really, Gertie, it was terrible of me to keep Ashley as a girlfriend when I didn't love her anymore."

Gertie asked bluntly, "How did you dump Ashley?"

Arnold looked upwards, "I didn't dump Ashley. You don't dump people, Gertie." Arnold tried to put a nice spin on an ugly topic; "You just... let them go."

One of the Gertie's eyes squinted and the opposite eyebrow turned up because she smelled the smelly smell of bullshit emanating from her dad. "When your mom told me she loved me, and I returned those sentiments, I drove to Hillwood all the way from the duplex to break up with Ashley in person so I could be with your mom."

Gertie's eyes widened, "You drove three hours one way to break up with someone?"

"Yes I did." Arnold nodded, "You can't buy class, Gertie, and breaking up with someone in person is classier than over the phone." Arnold saw the suspicious look that his child gave him, he questioned with his arms raised. "What?" Then Arnold stated with exasperation, "We had been dating for three years, and you just don't end something like that with a simple phone call!"

Gertie smirked, "Mom wouldn't be your girlfriend until you got completely rid of Ashley would she?"

Absolutely hating the intelligence and insight of his girl sometimes, Arnold groaned, "Your mom wouldn't even kiss me until Ashley was out of the picture, I had to do something!" The caught man continued, "Anyway, you better believe that I got to Hillwood City in record time, and as it turns out, Ashley had another boyfriend that I didn't know about."

His daughter's eyes were wide. "Didn't that make you mad?"

Arnold answered bluntly, "Are you kidding, Kid? I felt like I had been paroled!" Gertie's eyebrows rose when Arnold stated cheerfully, "Anyway, after Ashley dumped me in the doorway of her apartment wrapped in a shower curtain that had yellow ducks on it," Arnold laughed at the expression on his daughter's face. "I told her that I hoped she and the pizza man would be very happy together, goodbye, and raced back to your mother as fast as I could."

Before Gertrude could say or ask anything else about the magical evening, Arnold finished in the hopes of distracting her, "Basically, what I'm saying is that your mother and I could have been with, and enjoyed each other for much longer if we had just admitted our feelings instead of keeping them a secret."

Gertie had her hands folded in her lap, "What if I tell Kyo how I feel, and it still doesn't work out?"

Arnold shrugged, "Then it doesn't, but at least you'll know, and no matter what; Kyo will always be your friend, Sweetheart."

Arnold patted his girl on the back, and collected their empty plates as he rose from his seat. "Now give that poor boy a break and tell him you love him, because we both know that you do. Not all relationships are doomed to failure from the start."

Arnold added, "Also, do me a gigantic favor and don't tell your mom I gave you cake before dinner, because she'll kick my butt."

Like she did when she was little, and her father had given her candy or dessert on the sly with a request not to tell, the girl acted as if she zipped her lips shut and threw away the key. As Gertie looked up at her father with a warm smile, Arnold kissed his daughter on the forehead. "I love you, Grasshopper."

As the man left the girl's room, she returned with, "I know."

Arnold joked, "Don't stay in the carbonite too long, Han Solo."

When the door to her room cracked to almost closing, the girl stretched out comfortably on her now empty bed, and wondered how to approach the situation her father had talked her into acting upon without coming on too strong.

Arnold knocked on the door again, and pushed his face through the small aperture adding, "By the way, Gertie, when you and Kyo are going out, be sure to bring him over to dinner a lot."

Gertie laughed. "That boy eats over here too much as it is."

Arnold laughed, but added, "I know, but now I want him here so I can scowl at him across the table, act like I hate his guts, and threaten him with a wet, violent death in the middle of nowhere when we're alone."

With an incredulous smile, Gertie had nothing to say in response except, " _Dad_!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cartoons "SilverHawks" and "TigerSharks" belong to Rankin-Bass/Time-Warner Inc. No infringement on their properties is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> Tranzor Z and its related characters Devleen, and Aphrodite-A do not belong to me, nor does the property Mazinger Z created by Go Nagai. No infringement on those properties is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> The publication "Playboy", published by Playboy Publishing, is a subgroup that is property of Playboy Enterprises Incorporated. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> Star Wars and all related names and characters were created by George Lucas and belongs to Lucasfilm Ltd. /20th Century Fox. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> Transformers belong to Hasbro Inc., Takara/Tomy Ltd, as does the faction name Decepticon, and the character names "Fortress Maximus" and "Wheelie". No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The character "Astoria Ritz-Carlton" and the G-1 Transformers episode entitled "The Girl Who Loved Powerglide" was written by David Wise.
> 
> The names Lilyana and Hannah belong to H.D. Kraft/Mary Sue Is Dead. No infringement on the author's property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> The book "Hiroshige: One Hundred Famous Views Of Edo" are the works of Hiroshige compiled and printed by George Braziller Inc. from the Brooklyn Museum plates, and the book I looked at printed in Japan. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The song "The Captain of Her Heart" was performed by the group Double. There are no lyrics from the song in this chapter, only the title of the song. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> Mark McKinstry grants his permission to use his name in this story, as well as his malevolent handle, Commander Megatron. No infringement on his identity is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from the instrumental track entitled Grasshopper, by the Maxwell Implosion, located on their album, Small Circle of Friends.
> 
> There is a story connected to this chapter titled "Love Indelible" located in the "Like Mother Universe" story collection


	6. The Upper Left Hand Corner of the Sky

After a shower, Courtney's nose showed no signs of wanting to bleed again, which was a relief. Being an employee in the food service industry, she knew no one she may wait on that evening wanted to look at a face that looked like a part of it was close to falling off.

Her nose was a little swollen, but not so much so that it made her look strange, so Courtney felt it was safe to go in for work that evening.

Overall, it could have been much worse, and the girl felt much better now that she was home, clean, and had unburdened a little emotional baggage as well.

Choosing not to ruminate over the happenings of that morning, Courtney peered in her dresser mirror and scrutinized its reflection. Vanity, she certainly felt to a disgusting degree, the impressed girl couldn't help but admire her brand new House of Caprini designed glasses, and how much better they looked in comparison to the old ones she lost that morning.

With a roll of her eyes, Courtney knew that her mother would most certainly have approved. In fact, Rhonda probably would have thrown a ridiculously lavish gala to celebrate her only daughter's conversion to the cult of the mysterious fashion designer that she unfalteringly worshipped, the great Oleg Caprini.

In the past, any other time the conservative girl would have just brushed her hair and left it alone, but Courtney thought she looked so different with the new style of frames, she felt compelled to experiment with her appearance.

Courtney wondered what the glasses would have looked like in conjunction with her favorite comfortable jogging pullover, but she knew she might as well give up that fantasy because she'd never see the article of clothing again.

When her father took her back to school to apologize to Principal Cashwell, she could not believe that he simply forgave her trespass completely, offering none of the punishments she felt she had rightfully earned for her less than well-mannered behavior.

That wasn't the strangest part of their meeting, however.

It was her narrow behind on the line, but Mister Cashwell was the one who seemed to be the most nervous throughout the entire meeting. Being used seeing to his disapproving scowls in the background at meets and scholastic competitions while hatefully barking instructions to teachers and students, his false, greasy smile married with halting titters disturbed Courtney more than the former.

Principal Cashwell also enjoyed an audience, especially the parents of the kids who went to Hillwood so that he could perform the grand act of seeming to care about his job outside of a paycheck. It was a surprise to Courtney that it seemed the overbearing man wanted both she and her father out of his office as soon as possible without actually coming out and saying it.

Courtney was too worried about the punishments that Cashwell had in store for her to find it entertaining then, but as they sat in the office talking, she noticed that the Principal was checking his watch, sweating, and shifting around in his seat as if he were sitting on top of the roasting red eye of a hotplate. Even though he didn't like the principal, her dad was still polite to him, even when he was clearly angry while questioning why the football players hadn't been punished, and also demanding a stop to the bullying she had endured, so her father's demeanor couldn't have possibly been misconstrued as threatening.

As she and her father left the office, more or less being pushed out the door, Principal Cashwell offered to write a letter of recommendation to State college for her entrance the next coming fall. Courtney wanted to think the best of people in general, but she figured that Cashwell was trying to ingratiate himself with her dad since he is mayor of the city. Her dad's business had also just donated a thousand annoying vuvuzelas for the glee club to sell, and a brand new plastic skull for the school's drama club production of Hamlet in the spring, but Courtney doubted that had much to do with Mr. Cashwell's magnanimousness, and wondered what was up.

She should have just been grateful that she wasn't being penalized for her conduct, but Courtney would have faced an eternity of detentions gladly, simply to have her comfortable old pullover back.

After the meeting with the principal, she and her dad checked under the seats in the office where she knew her pullover probably was last, but it wasn't there.

A slim hope, Courtney asked if anyone had turned it in to the lost and found, but in accordance with her stupendously crappy luck of that day, of course no one had laid eyes on the article of clothing since it left her possession that morning.

It broke Courtney's heart, and made her furious with herself to have been so irresponsible in abandoning it in the office earlier in the day. For most of the afternoon, she had seethed over its loss, but ultimately found that it didn't do any good, and had been trying to let it go, because at the end of the day, the article of clothing was still gone, and there was no getting it back.  
The absolute worst part about losing the pullover though, was that whoever had taken it did not know, and probably didn't even care what it meant to her personally.

Her mother bought her the Caprini pullover to keep her warm during morning training runs the year before in the beginning of fall. Courtney didn't wear it much then, because she thought it was a bit ostentatious, but after her mother's death, she wore the garment everyday like a second skin, even if it were too warm to justify wearing it. No longer a stylish indulgence, the warm, black pullover was a tangible link to Rhonda, something to connect Courtney to the woman she loved.

Sometimes Courtney would go so far as to hug her arms to herself and pretend being held by her mother.

As she thought of her, Courtney fingered the sterling silver tray on top of her dresser, filled to overflowing with expensive bottles of perfume that Rhonda didn't get the chance to finish. She liked most of them, but her mom's absolute favorite was in the large square shaped bottle that contained a clear, heavenly scented elixir called 'Romance'. Squirting a tiny bit on the nape of her neck, Courtney then spread it around the front of it with her wrists. Lifting one of them to her nose when finished, she relished the floral scent she had come to know as the essence of her mother.

Completely out of character, and seldom doing such, Courtney experimented by adjusting her hair into different styles to see how it looked against the new glasses frames, and as the she did, a white cat jumped up on her dresser to do some investigating of its own. After a little nosing, which resulted in the knocking down of a few of the smaller bottles of perfume, the feline then chose to block her mistress's view of the mirror for attention.

"Arcee!" The girl addressed her meddlesome cat in a frustrated tone as it turned around in front of her, giving her a generous view of her exposed bottom, disturbingly close to her face. "Yuck!" The girl said in disgust as she pushed the animal's erect tail down with a grimace. "Do I really want a good view of your exhaust?" She was going to put it down onto the floor, but Courtney couldn't resist its plaintive meow, so she gave in, started petting the cat, and soon it began to purr against her gentle touch. After a few more loving strokes, and a quick scratch behind an ear, then under the chin, Courtney picked up her pet and placed it back onto the floor gently with the admonishment of, "Now stay down there with your friend, please."

Another cat, this time a rare, black, white, and red brindle patched male calico cat jumped up on the dresser, and rubbed against Courtney's cheek like a soft, warm whiskered powder puff with a purr. Having none of it for the moment though, Courtney admonished, "You too, Ramjet, get down." By the time the girl said that, the solid white cat had already jumped back up onto the dresser, and directly in her face vying for attention with its companion.

"Cheese and crackers I'm _surrounded_." She muttered, then exclaimed gently, "Oh, all right, c'mon." The cornered girl petted and scratched both demanding cats at once, all the while turning her head to address the third one lying on her bed with a funny tone. "Hey, there's plenty of love to go around, you wanna' get in on this too, Wreck Gar?" Courtney craned her head to look completely in behind herself at the animal, but the thin, scraggly, three-legged ginger tabby simply reclined on her bed, and looked upwards at his mistress blinking once in greeting to his territory in disinterest.

Then the peasant cat who had become king simply yawned, stretched out to his full length, and then curled his body tightly, snuggling the earless side of his head down on her bed, shutting his eye in what looked like rapt pleasure with a barely audible rumble issuing from his throat.

The most pitiful pet of the three, the scarred feline looked like road kill that had been sewn together out of various parts of other animals and re-animated with either a magic spell, or sinister science.

However, like a jigsaw puzzle at a yard sale, he was missing a few pieces as well.

One ear was gone, an eye, half a tail, and of course one of his front legs to even out the back. In addition, there was a patch of pinkish white skin on the cat's hindquarter that fur refused to grow on, and Thad, her imaginative father, said that if you squinted your eyes it sort of looked like the state of Rhode Island, but Courtney wasn't so sure.

A wonder it was even alive, seeing the injuries it had sustained, when Courtney found the thin, malnourished cat in a garbage can behind the place where she worked, she felt extremely sorry for it, therefore took it home until she could secure proper medical care for it. The other two cats were strays she had dragged home to love too, but her mother was somewhat irritated that she had brought this particular three-legged veterinary nightmare home because it had expensive medical problems the former two did not.

Unfortunately, added to the feline's already considerable problems, Courtney's handicapped cat was also like the Trojan horse of Greek legend. Unknown to the benevolent girl, the innocuous looking cat carried an entire legion of hidden marauders in the form of six legged Hoplites on its back to storm Rhonda Gammelthorpe's house, invading the carpets, furniture, and even them like the walls of Troy as Homer described in the Iliad.

To Courtney's surprise, even her father, who had a penchant for spoiling her, took his wife's side, citing with authority that the cat had to go as well, somewhat dismayed that he had gotten fleas himself, which her mother found highly entertaining despite her irritation with the situation.

Not given to defeat so easily, Courtney got a full flea treatment for the cat, and instead of "Lucky", she named him for a Transformers character, also, as a point of responsibility, and to help buy her mother's forgiveness as well, Courtney shouldered the steep bill for a fumigation of the entire house.

In the meantime, the crafty young woman did some fast-talking, and forced interactions between the new cat and her father, consequently, Thad fell hard for Wreck-Gar, citing that the scraggly feline reminded him of him in many ways.

Being outnumbered two to one, Rhonda had to let the cat stay then, as if she could deny the two great loves of her life, Thad and Courtney, anything their hearts desired to begin with.  
Later, as her mother's days got darker, and her time in this world more brief, it was the sweet natured ginger stray that hopped up into her bed and curled up beside her faithfully every day, helping keep her both warm, and company.

Closing her eyes with a sniff, Courtney missed her mother so much, more than mere words, or even feelings could properly express.

With a dab of her eyes with the back of her hand, Courtney pulled open a small drawer in the right hand side of the dresser. Instantly, the smell of sweet smelling powder flooded her nose as she looked at its contents.

Not being able to bring herself to look at it since August, the regretful young woman looked down at the worn, black felt box that held the pearl necklace her mother had given her much too soon, and took it up onto her hand with reverence, as if she were handling a religious relic.  
For the briefest of moments, Courtney was tempted to open the box and drape the nearly glowing orbs around her neck, but she didn't have the heart to yet.

The priceless ornament was hers, true, but in Courtney's mind, they still belonged to her.  
Her mother's pearls were witness to so many awards, dances, joys, and sweet kisses, and to Courtney; it seemed disrespectful to don such a beautiful item while still in mourning for the previous owner.

The aching girl had worn the pearls once since passed to her, but that was to her mother's wake and funeral, and the only reason why Courtney wore them then was to honor her mother, and the grandmother she so dearly loved before her, knowing that it would please Rhonda if she did so.

Courtney sighed, placed the clamshell container back, closed that drawer, and then opened the one directly in front of her. Running her fingers over the cosmetics that her dad had given her out of the master bathroom, soon the curious girl's roving eyes caught sight of a familiar, ornate metal cylinder hiding in the corner edge of the box that she had somehow missed. The girl looked at herself once again, picked up the gold and silver molded metal tube, surprised at its heft in comparison to size, and removed the long scalloped cap from the base.

Inside was an achingly beautiful shade of lipstick.

The enchanted stuff of womanhood, Courtney twisted the base of the holder, and as if by magic, the cosmetic rose from its sleep in the chamber to bask in the light of her room. It wasn't quite pink, nor was it red, but an even mingling of both with a pearlescent quality to it, not unlike her mother's enchanted necklace.

By its worn, rounded shape, Courtney knew that her mother's lips had graced the lipstick numerous times before, as it was her favorite shade, and as the girl was about to place the tinted grease to her own bottom lip, she stopped. With a sigh, Courtney twisted the lipstick back down into the tube, and put the cap back on, but with a fond smile on her face.

Often were the times in which she would watch her mother scurry around dressing for some event or meeting, but the last touch she would ever put on her appearance was lipstick.  
When she was little, and Rhonda would be in the process of getting ready for some event, she would always watch, because her mother was the paragon in which she strove to learn from, and emulate.

No matter how late or in a hurry she was, her attentive mother would always take the time to kneel in front of her, wink, and pronounce with both authority, and her index finger risen, "Not that you actually need it, Gorgeous, but every girl should have a little lipstick."

Rhonda would then cross her eyes, and make some sort of funny face with her tongue stuck out that always made her giggle, and add confidently, "Just because." Then the gorgeous woman would draw some of the solid perfumed pigment onto her lips, brush her hair back, kiss her tiny forehead, and say to her with a completely impish inflection while touching the tip of her little nose, "Now, go and give your daddy a great big smooch!"

With that invitation, Courtney would run to her father, happily obeying her mother's suggestion, jumping into his safe, comfortable arms to give him a kiss. Of course, being unable to resist, before Courtney was done, her father's face would be completely covered in her tiny lip marks, only for her mother to sidle up to him, and add yet another pair or two of colored lip prints.  
Her wonderful father, never irritated by the somewhat messy show of affection, would always give both ladies a kiss of their own back, sigh with a gigantic grin, and ask jokingly, "What in the world am I going to do with my girls?"

''Court?" The girl jumped, and the lipstick flew out of her hand as Thad knocked on the door of his daughter's room, "May I come in?"

The girl replied, "Yes, please do."

When he opened the door, Thad crooked his head at his little princess; always so surprised at how much she had grown, and just how beautiful she was, just like her mother. "I already said it, but I have to say again, that those frames look great on you, 'Court." With a thumb up he added, "Extremely cool!"

The girl blushed a little at the flattery, but she appreciated it, "Thanks, Dad." Looking upwards abashedly, Courtney had to admit, "I'm glad you convinced me to get an extra pair."

Thad smiled, but the protective father, still worried about the events of the day, and the emotional state of his child asked, "Are you sure you still want to go to work tonight?" Rubbing the back of his neck, Thad shrugged, "I'm sure that they'd understand if you didn't come in if you explained."

The girl shook her head. "I'm fine, Dad, really. This is my drama, not theirs; and it wouldn't be fair to the other wait staff for me to be absent. Besides, Friday night is one of the busiest nights of the week." The girl said in a joking tone, "Tips will be good and I need the money."

Thad answered with a tiny laugh, because when he and Rhonda signed the papers for her trust fund in July of that year, they made her a multi millionaire. "Well, Working Girl, are you going in at your usual time?"

Courtney checked her clock and said, "Yep, five thirty on the dot, I have to help fill condiment bottles, swab tables, and sweep up a little before the dinner rush."

The kind man made a suggestion, hoping to cheer his girl a little, "Would you like to take Jazz along?" Thad craftily suggested while holding his hands as if they were gripping a steering wheel, and mimicking the sounds of squealing tires like his alter ego Curly might have at a younger age. "Maybe unwind a little with some moonlight cruising on Stratford Road?" He looked all around the girl's neatly kept room, and the glass displays in the walls displaying her loose, boxed, and carded Thundercats, Transformers, and Voltron collections.

Courtney shook her head negatively, "No, I better take Tracks; I don't want Jazz to sit in the back. A Decepticon might sneak up from behind and do something to him."

Choosing not to tease the girl for her preference of American sports cars, as opposed to his love of European models, Thad smiled, thinking of how good her Corvette was going to look metallic blue, and covered with Autobot symbols. "Have you decided when you're going to take him to paint?"

Courtney nodded, "As soon as I get the interior finished. I can't do that until my carpet, door panels, and arm rests come in from my catalogue order from the restoration place."

Thad asked, "What color did you choose?"

The girl smiled, "Oyster."

The man put his hand on his chin, "I can't believe my little girl is a grease monkey."

Courtney scoffed, "That is an optimistic appraisal of my abilities at best, and I wouldn't go that far, Dad." The girl said in a reserved tone, "I'm pretty good with a screwdriver, but interior work isn't like a tune-up, or a complete under the hood overhaul."

The man laughed at the girl's modesty. "I'm still envious of you, I didn't even know what a hog ring was until you told me. I thought it was something you put in the nose of a real pig." The girl chuckled at her father's surprising lack of automotive fastener knowledge. "Well, I'm going to let you finish getting ready; do you want Consuela to fix you something to eat before you go?"

The girl shook her head, "She's already asked." The girl smiled with a roll of her eyes upwards. "I told her no, that I could get something to eat at work, but then she came back upstairs with a Cuban sandwich and made me eat anyway." Courtney said with surprise, "She even brought the cats some cut up ham as a treat." Seeing how the housekeeper disliked the cats' propensity for what she saw as dirtiness, Courtney ended, "How cool was that?"

Thad laughed. "She just really cares about you, and you know what a sucker Consuela is for your spoiled little kitties." The girl gave her father a wary look when he added, "When Ramjet jumped up on the kitchen countertop after we got home this afternoon, she didn't even threaten to throw him in the blender this time." After the two laughed, the clever man changed topics and said in a sneaky tone, "Since you're hell bent on working tonight, I'll be around when you get off work, and make sure you get in the car safely, okay?"

The girl pursed her lips then said, "Dad."

The man crossed his arms and eyed her with the response of, "Courtney."

Knowing she wouldn't win this argument, she sighed, "Oh, alright, but just don't let anybody see you lurking around."

"See me?" The man pointed at himself and said with pride, "I am the very soul of discretion." The girl gave her father a look then smiled when he asked, "Do you think you'll be going anywhere else after work?"

The girl thought for a moment then said, "No, I doubt it."

"Okay, but if you do, please call Consuela, she'll call me, and we'll both know where you'll be, okay?"

Courtney saluted her father. "Aye aye, Captain!"

Thad admonished half seriously, half joking, "Always be wary of your surroundings, and be careful too." With a funny voice he added, "There's always some kind of weirdo lurking about in dark alleys and unlit street corners you know." While Courtney chuckled, Thad bent down, kissed her on the cheek, and took one last look before he left. "I'll see you later, Kiddo."

As he was about the close the door behind him, Courtney called out, "Daddy?"

He poked his head back inside, "Yes, Princess?"

"I love you." The girl said with a peaceful look on her face.

The loving father returned with, "Until all are one." and closed the door.

* * *

Fighting the urge to curse, Helga blew the damp strings of her sweaty bangs out of her face, then studied the corner of the singed Hungarian cookbook she held in her hand while scraping the curled edges of it like burnt toast with a butter knife into the sink.

How in the world could she have been so careless?

It could be worse though, Helga mused, and at least the book was thick, so oxygen couldn't get to the inner leaves, or she could have caught the kitchen, or even the whole stinking house on fire.

Fortunately, the only damage done was a browned book, and a bruised ego.

Hurrying to get the scorched parts of the book off before anyone walked into the kitchen and saw what had happened, she scraped one last time, then put the book behind some others on the shelf to hide it. If Arnold bore witness to it, he would never let her live it down, and added to that, her husband might tell others, at some point in life forcing her to kill him in order to either make him shut up about it, or prevent him from putting the incident into one of his books.

The fact that she had actually cooked the cookbook she had gotten the recipe for her goulash out of was a portent of bad things to come in respects to her meal, and Helga had no idea how good the stew itself was going to be.

Actually, unfortunately, Helga did know how it would turn out, but after years of living with Arnold Shortman, it had somehow taught her to in some way to try looking on the bright side, no matter how stupid it was.

Right?

Contrary to what one walking on the sidewalk outside downwind might be lead to believe, Helga's cooking was extremely good most of the time. Unfortunately, when it came to making traditional Hungarian foods, or any other kind of foreign fare, it was like handing Kryptonite to Superman, and the aspiring gourmet chef couldn't cook it worth a damn to save her life.

The crestfallen woman wished Olga was in town to help her, and even worse, Helga couldn't even call her older sister to get help in talking her disabled dinner down to safety because it would be both rude, and extremely expensive. Big sis was on a second honeymoon/vacation in Bali with her husband, and the last thing she needed to do was interrupt them during that.  
Before Olga left, Helga had asked her flighty sister to send her some pictures of the local scenery when she had a chance, but for some reason, the only picture she had managed to send her was one of an elaborate cremation service a few days ago, and that was all she had heard from her since.

Actually, Helga thought as she ruminated in irritation, human barbecue sounded pretty good right then, as Arnold's earlier comments about her latest culinary attempt had left a bad taste in her mouth, mostly because it was probably correct.

As the contents of the pot became thicker, glue like, and stinky, the woman stewed in anger at the bubbling container sitting on the stove.

The dumplings hadn't risen yet; they were probably stuck to the bottom of the pot burning.

After a few violent scrapes of her blunt edged wooden spoon on the bottom of her pot, Helga's suspicions were proven when bits of black, burnt potato pastry bobbed to the top of her simmering stew, looking like oversized black-eyed peas.

It was a slim hope, but maybe the goulash proto-goo tasted good, and if it did, the way it looked didn't matter. Helga called her cloven-hoofed nemesis in a sweet tone to try her latest culinary exploit like a lab rat.

If the pig ate it and didn't die, it would be safe for her to taste it, and see if it were salvageable.

"Aaaaaabner!" Helga called sweetly, " _Heeeeerrrre_ piggy, piggy _piggyyyyyyyy_!"

The elderly pink, black bristle covered pig trotted into the kitchen with its hooves clicking quickly against the tile as she slopped sticky, two toned potato dumplings, and overcooked pork shreds into his personalized bowl.

The hopeful woman tried to pinch off the burnt parts of the dumplings she dredged up from the underworld of the pot; but they were steaming hot, and it hurt too much to do.  
Besides, Abner was a pig.

Pigs, witnessed from her experience of living her teenaged years on a farm, would eat damn near anything, even each other if an opportunity presented itself. If Arnold and Abner's disgusting little snack in the garage that afternoon was any proof of his gustatory cannibalism, the pig should actually enjoy what she was giving him.

"Okay, Abner," Helga said cautiously as she stirred and blew the steaming hot contents of the bowl for a few minutes to cool so the pig's mouth wouldn't be burned, testing periodically with her own finger just to make sure. When the goulash was cool enough for Abner to eat safely, she foolishly requested, "now don't sugar coat it; tell me exactly what you think."

After placing the bowl on the floor, Helga breathlessly watched the pig's dexterous snout move up, down; then side to side sniffing the air around him. Expectation soon turned to disgust however, when drool began to drip out of Abner's elongated maw and down to the floor.

"Go ahead and take a taste, Boy." Helga said gently, with a loving pat on the shoulders that could have been a persuasive push as Abner snorted, and took a step towards his full feeding bowl.

Helga watched with anticipation as the porcine test subject took another wary sniff of the warm food, a suspicious look at her, then finally a tiny mouthful of the potato pork gruel into his usually greedy mouth.

When Abner did, the pig instantly got down on the floor in a distressed fashion, scraping one of his two toed front feet across his wide snout as he simultaneously rubbed it on the floor.

  
When that failed to remove the taste of Helga's cooking from his mouth, Abner ran out of the kitchen squealing through the black rubber flapped pet door. Once outside, the distressed pig began to run around the tight backyard in circles, rubbing his face on the cool green grass; and taking hunks of it along with dirt into its mouth to chew.

Helga opened the door, and yelled through it angrily, " **You could have lied**!" and then slammed it shut.

With a sigh, conceding defeat once again, the irritated cook turned off the blue flames that were licking underneath the pot, and angrily snatched a card off the refrigerator while pulling her hand through her free flowing, but mussed long hair.

The kids loved pizza, and you didn't have to twist either Arnold or Abner's arms to eat it either, so Helga figured that was what she would probably order. It wasn't the healthier dinner that Helga planned to feed her family that evening, but the kids had to go to work. She could have tried fixing something else, but she knew there wasn't enough time to get it ready, as she would have to have something to eat there relatively quickly.

It wasn't quite time to place an order, so she put the business card of their favorite pizzeria down on the island and looked at the ceiling over the kitchen table. Miles' closet and the crawlspace behind the couch were directly above her. There wasn't any evidence left of the incident now, but she thought of the dark stormy day that she bullied her way through it with her big feet, wooden slats, plaster and all; to the table below.

What a surprise it must have been for poor Phil and Gertie to have a third guest for breakfast appear in such a shocking manner, as she crashed down on their kitchen table, breaking it in the process.

Worse, their rude guest left before eating, and had even less graciousness by stealing an umbrella from them, simply so she could have the sublime pleasure of murdering her father's poetry spewing pet parrot.

At least Arnold found perverse humor in it when she told him what she had done, and while she was at it, she went on ahead and told the surprised man the myriad other insane things she had done as a child influenced by him in some way to either hide, or protect her worship of him.  
Love indeed compelled people to do the craziest things.

His and her childhood adventures along with their old childhood gang, as well as the story of how they fell in love with each other later in life was the content of the latest book Arnold had finished writing a few weeks ago called, ' _How To Live With A Woman If You Just Have To'_.

At first, Helga wasn't so sure at first if she wanted people knowing the intimate details of how their adult relationship came to be, especially their children, but now she felt good about it, and was glad that Arnold had written the book.

Besides, everyone in the Hillwood neighborhood more or less already knew most of the details of their legendary love affair anyway, so why not the rest of the world?

Arnold's publisher sent him a good-sized advance check too.

As the reminiscent woman thought about the events of the past, soon enough, her thoughts wedded with the happenings of that day between her son and Rhonda's girl, realizing that with the copious evidence gathered, the apple did not fall so far away from the tree indeed.

Earlier, Arnold had gone upstairs to spend some time with Gertie, she could only assume, to try to help tweeze out her problems with men, and get their daughter to come out with her love for Kyo. As Helga untied the food-spattered apron from around her waist, she figured enough time had passed, and thought she had better go upstairs and try to help her confused son in the same way if she could.

As she heard light thumps and the sound of things shuffling around above her head, she knew she would have to get Miles out of the closet with his love for Courtney, literally.  
Arnold walked into the kitchen carrying two empty plates, and a guilty look on his face. When he looked down into the still steaming pot that had ceased to bubble like a witch's pot, he asked, "Aren't you going to add paprika?"

Helga shook her head negatively and said with a guarded tone, "No, that would be wasteful. I'm going to order pizza in a little bit if that's okay with you." The woman eyed her husband's satisfied look, not bothering to mention the fact that her doomed stew was a failure, because it was quite obvious. Helga ended off handedly, "It's not quite time yet, though, so I'm going to go upstairs and talk to Miles for a little bit."

Arnold offered, "You want me to?"

Helga smirked, "I think I have a little better grasp on the situation through experience on this one, Cicero." Arnold nodded, and then she joked, "I also heard some of your little chat upstairs with Gertie too." The woman looked at the man she loved with a fond smile. "Litter box of love, Football Head?"

Highly amused with his parenting methods, Arnold could do nothing less but respond in a highly self-satisfied way while pointing at himself with his hand. "Can I help it if I'm a genius, Helga?"

"I swear, Arnold," Helga announced with a small laugh, and a genuine fondness for his everything, "You get it honest."

The smitten man wrapped his arms around his wife, and was surprised that she would let him kiss her after all the benign abuse he had treated her to that day. "I was just doing the dad thing, and I knew Gertie wouldn't listen to me unless I said what I had to in an off the wall way."

Helga was impressed with her creatively intelligent husband. "Maybe I should write and you be the child psychologist?"

"Maybe." The man gathered his sweet partner into his arms, wrapped them around her curved waist, nuzzling his warm face into her neck. With a gentle kiss on a particularly sensitive area, and a naughty inflection, Arnold whispered, "I can't wait until later." Then he ended the statement with a purr, while rubbing her ear with his nose.

The clever wife teased, "My, aren't we hopeful?" She gently broke Arnold's entrapment, and then walked towards the hallway to go tend her boy, but before she left the sight of her husband, she turned her head and gave him a cunning glance with a sideways smile ending with a wink.

He said nothing in response, but nearly all of Arnold's teeth were exposed in a wide, wicked grin.

* * *

In the ill-lit quiet of his closet, Miles could well understand the primal draw of dark, cave-like places, and he wondered if it was ingrained into the human psyche to seek them out as refuge.  
The feel that they imparted was womb-like, and the aura of protection the small space gave him was a welcome respite from the madness of the much larger world outside that one could not control.

Miles was not a hunting-gathering Cro-Magnon man however, nor was he in the caves of Chauvet, or Altamira. He had not taken saliva, charcoal, soot, and dirt to airbrush his handprints onto the walls with light puffs of air from his mouth. Nor had the troubled young man used sticks with burnt ends to draw sprinting horses, bucking antlered deer, or elaborate stampedes of massive horned aurochs bulls by flickering weak light fueled with fat as prehistoric man had done in Lascaux either.

He did trace his hand in red crayon in the corner of the white walled closet when he was in pre-school, though, and as he compared the size of his hand now, to size of it then, he had to admit it made him feel a kinship with his prehistoric ancestors.

Ever since Miles was old enough to toddle into it, the closet in his bedroom was his secret place.

  
A lot of children that he knew way back then, even his own sister, were absolutely terrified of their closets, and before bed, many of them insisted that the door be closed after a thorough checking for monsters and ghosts by their parents. Not Miles though, he would pull the comforter off his bed, make a tent out of it with baseball bats, hockey sticks, hangers, and then sleep in his closet at night from time to time.

This was the one place where Miles could truly have peace and be himself. The modern cave that held his secrets, and he cherished the tiny room for its privacy, and the ability it gave him to just sit and think without distraction.

It was both a blessing and curse as far as the boy could tell.

As he sorted through his childhood treasures one by one, well-worn baseball cards, dusty stacks of comic books, and miniature Transformers action figures, he was comforted until he reached his most treasured keepsake.

The old orange and white shoebox wasn't anything remarkable to look at on the outside, but its contents were priceless, and Miles religiously contributed to the torn, overly taped cardboard bank of memories when opportunities presented themselves.

There was a time in which the shoebox was a wellspring of hope, the tangible tie to a future he fantasized about daily, and wanted more than anything else; but after the events of that day, all of that was gone.

Now, all the well-loved keeper of mementos was to him was a mere casket, and inside was the body of the dead love that never had a chance to live.

Remembering the harsh words of the girl he loved from earlier in the day, the heartbroken boy rifled through the dilapidated box that held his irreplaceable fortune, glad to have at least that bit of Courtney to hold onto. Most of the items were browning newspaper clippings, but as medieval pilgrims acquired religious relics from shady holy men, Miles had also served as his own dodgy Summoner and Pardoner. For a good while, the crafty boy had been purloining bits and pieces of the deity he worshipped, secreting them away secure in the knowledge that no one knew about them.

Miles had one of Courtney's dark blue hair scrunchies that she left in the cubbyhole of her desk in Biology. The reason why she left it there was because someone's fresh gum was stuck to it. After class, and when he was sure there were no witnesses, Miles snatched it up, hiding it in his locker in a lockable sandwich bag until he could get it home and painstakingly pick all the gum off of it.

Miles mourned the fact that its smell was gone now, but when he first got the hair tie, the arousing perfume of her shampooed hair and natural scent was on it.

For days after, he would sit in the closet writing poetry to the queen of his heart, and as he did, Miles would snort the hair accessory like a drug addict; trying to tweeze the same high that he got from it the first time he sniffed it. After that first intoxicating drag, though, no dose of the magical potion could ever be as powerful or good as the first time.

The next item he ran his hands over was a pink rubber bracelet that Courtney had taken off of her wrist before running a 50K race hosted by Hillwood Cancer Services that she was first over the finish line for.

He was there because his mother volunteered to register runners, and pass out water in memory of her friend, Rhonda, but he was there only as a mere spectator. Later on, Miles' role of watcher turned to thief, as he secretly took the rubber bracelet off the water table after Courtney walked away forgetting it.

All of his treasures had value beyond compare, but he put the tiny rubber bracelet to his side, and glanced at the inside doorknob of his closet, and what was hanging off it.

True he had a shirt stained with the very essence of Courtney's life in the form of his grey, blood speckled State college t-shirt, that since had been neatly folded and ensconced in a nice, airproof plastic container to the side to cherish.

The shirt however, could not even begin to compare with his other latest, and greatest acquisition to the Shortman Collection to date that had fallen into his hands.

The holy pullover of Hillwood.

The lovesick boy knew that he had to have taken the article of clothing off the wire hanger he hung it on and placed it back at least twenty times that day because he could not keep his hands off, or nose out of it.

Repeatedly, Miles hugged the smooth black fleece to his chest. As he rubbed his face over it, he wondered what ecstasy it would be to have the pleasure of holding the girl that owned the pullover.

His mind wandered to other aching things he would like to experience with the goddess, like wrapping his hand around hers, and kissing those full, sweet, juicy red lips time and again.

Miles shook his head before he allowed his imagination to roam too much farther, sighed dejectedly, and tried to think of other things while he began to pick paper clippings out of the torn shoebox.

There was the article about Courtney's I.Q. Bowl win at Wellington College, which Hillwood High had never won at before until she competed. There were school paper articles about the school's debate team, and Courtney's contributions to that as well, not to mention the track races in which Courtney had run in, and completely owned the competition. Held together by staples, there was also a stack of seven editorials that Courtney had written as a guest for 'The Hillwood Times' paper ranging from topics as broad as politics, and the importance of kindness to animals.

At the bottom of the box, to not bend or wrinkle them, there were two developed photos of the girl as well.

The first picture was one he had taken of her getting off the bus after a field trip to the natural science museum she didn't have a clue he had snapped.

He took the picture up into his fingers and gazed upon it lovingly. Courtney was smiling, and had on a tee shirt that had the fossil remains of the prehistoric bird Archaeopteryx silk screened on it.

  
She had been looking forward to the trip for weeks, Miles knew because he sat in behind her in American History, and learned from reading over her shoulder in class she had a crosshatched calendar, which read museum trip broadly circled in red ink that she had religiously counted down the days to it with.

Rightfully, Miles felt ashamed of himself because he had to dull even that moment of happiness for her needlessly that day. She was standing in front of him waiting to buy a ticket to get inside, and he was enjoying being so close to her that he extended his posture so that he could inhale the intoxicating aroma of her wonderful smelling shiny black hair.

In fact, the boy was so entranced in her presence that he didn't realize just how close he had gotten to Courtney, and with a gentle shift in balance, he accidentally nudged her back with his chest, and in turn, she turned around to face him. Instead of being irritated with him like another girl would have probably been, Courtney looked upwards, ran her hand through her beautiful raven locks, favored him with a smile, and asked if he were okay.

Miles was shocked at his beloved's caring response that was for sure, because if it had been anyone else, she would have probably told him to step off, or go to hell, but Courtney, the heavenly angel, offered her characteristic concern for another's well-being.

Instead of acting like someone with manners, saying 'I'm sorry', and maybe breaking the ground for a friendly conversation that could turn into marriage, maybe a dog at first, but probably a cat, and then some kids; he looked down at her. With a nasty scowl, he rudely muttered, "What are you looking at, Gammeldork?" to hide the true reason behind his being so close to her.

Of course, his football "friends" had heard his insult towards Courtney, slapped him on the back, and adopted his crude ugliness as their newest catch phrase. Being the idiot he was, Miles smiled and enjoyed the false camaraderie of the mean boys, but his heart ached when Courtney turned around, and sighed in a manner that sounded like disappointed defeat.

Nobody knew that her mother was sick then, certainly not dying, except for him.

In addition, what did he do?

Make life more miserable for Courtney is what, it was not his intention, but still his actions had the aforementioned consequences.

Who were they, and who was he to make fun of that poor girl, and why did he in particular feel the need to do it? He knew now, though it was of no consequence that his motivations never mattered, because there was no sense in him being so mean to Courtney, even though the others were, and he didn't have a right to.

They had not said so, but what a disappointment Miles felt he must be for his parents by acting like such a fool. Added to that, Miles also couldn't help but think it was a wonder that Courtney's father, who looked strong enough to actually have a chance of taking his sister out in a fight; hadn't beaten the crap out of him for the repeated mistreatment of his daughter.

In frustration, the boy slapped himself on the forehead and instantly regretted it, because his already searing flesh came alive to an unusual extent and punished him in honor of the girl he had hurt in one way or another since he could remember.

As he closed his eyes, and silently cursed in discomfort, soon his pain turned to frustration, mingled with more regret as he picked up his favorite picture of the Courtney. He had bought one from the Hillwood High's school paper, The Fig Leaf, during one of their fundraisers.

Each year, the student body could buy copies of pictures of people on various teams featured in the yearbook at the end of the year. In selfless support of the track team, and certainly no other reason at all, Miles put five dollars on the table and bought one of Courtney's.

All of the other pictures had the kids posing with smiles and the sporting equipment they used as props such as soccer balls, bats, or footballs. Most of the track team members just smiled, posing in their sleeveless jerseys, but Courtney's picture was different, in that hers was not a static pose, but an action shot of her breaking through tape in a race she won.

When Miles asked why her picture was different from the others, Stinki Petersen told him that Courtney never came in for a photograph, so a stock photo of the girl from the school paper archives was used for duplication.

The school paper editor also made mention that when the track star found out a picture of her was offered for sale; Courtney purchased every copy, tore them to shreds, and threw them in the garbage can at the end of the table.

It wasn't until later that day during lunch period that he had the opportunity to sift through every pile of photographs on the table. After a painstaking thirty-minute search and against all odds to the contrary, Miles found one copy of Courtney's picture at the bottom of a stack of others to buy.

When he handed his friend the money for his serendipitous purchase, Miles made the needless excuse to the paper editor that he was just buying the picture to help the school paper fundraiser.

Knowing him much too well for his liking, and being somewhat blessed with an uncanny ability to cut through any and all forms of bullshit with a type of country bred common sense that couldn't be taught, Stinki gave him a knowing look. After allowing a few moments to pass after his obvious lie, the ever-tactful Miss Petersen asked him if he would like her to go to the nurse's office and get him a laxative, because he was so full of crap.

It wasn't until a few weeks later, during a late shift at work, that Stinki confessed to Miles that she was glad that she had the foresight to save him a copy of her picture. It was a serendipitous idea, because Miss Petersen had no idea that Courtney was going to do something so impressively draconian to her own image.

Because of the uncaring performances that he had given over the years, it honestly surprised Miles that the daughter of his father's first girlfriend had him sussed out so easily, and shuddered to think of whom else had unknowingly unraveled his secret obsession. His sister was the only other person that he knew for sure had knowledge of his true feelings for Courtney, but Miles felt that neither Stinki nor Gertie would ever tell, so his secret was relatively safe under their pin-cushioned stewardship.

As Miles studied Courtney's picture, and dissected lithe form of the beautiful girl, he had no choice but to think of wonderful, poetic things, like crispy, steaming hot biscuits smothered with sausage gravy, as he traced the delicate curve of her cheek in the photo. Then he concentrated on her slender muscular legs, gentle curving hips, svelte thin waist, full puffed chest, and that gorgeous shiny straight black hair that had to be so achingly soft.

If anyone ever dared to be so beautiful and graceful, it was Courtney Gammelthorpe.

Taking his game to the realm of benign stalking, just like the one his mother played with his father, he would watch the goddess at track practices, in the halls, and peer into the windows of the place where she worked just to see her.

A couple of times, he had even gone as far as to drive the five or so odd miles to her house after basketball practice on Thursday afternoons to sneak and watch her in the rose garden at her house when she was with her mother.

Knowing with sadness that he could never belong to her, the lovesick boy settled for stealing fleeting glances at her from afar.

It wasn't near enough for Miles, but it would have to do, it might as well.

He would never go into the place where she worked and ask to sit in her section to order anything.

Miles could not possibly walk up to her between classes, or after a run; and talk to her, heaven forbid flirt, or beg her favor for a date because of the stupendous ass he had been.

The very gates of Hell would freeze over before he went to her house, touched the key pad, and asked to call upon her in her home.

Worst of all, Miles knew now that even though it was his fondest wish, he would never know what it would be to joke and talk to her as friends; to be a part of her world as perhaps a little more, and his heart ached.

With both crushing regret and his final terrible realization of the day, Miles fully understood what Hell was, but he deserved it, that much was true, because this was the earthly torture that he had wrought for himself completely by his design, so he might as well accept, and roast in it for his eternity on earth.

Looking downwards, knowing it was truly selfish for him to think of allowing a tear for his loss, there was one last thing left in the shoebox for him to gaze upon, and he dreaded it because it made him remember.

The poignant clipping was the one that he tore out of a paper he bought from a newsstand, and it was the telling of two sad stories in one.

**GAMMELTHORPE**

_Ms. Rhonda Wellington Lloyd_   
_Gammelthorpe passed away in_   
_company of loving family_   
_Tuesday evening at Hillwood_   
_City Hospice and Palliative Care._   
_Ms. Gammelthorpe was an_   
_Alumna of State College,_   
_earning a bachelor degree in_   
_Liberal Arts. After graduation,_   
_Rhonda actively pursued her_   
_natural talent, and fervent_   
_passion in art, becoming_   
_a nationally known landscape_   
_artist and children's book illustrator._   
_Rhonda's proudest professional_   
_accomplishment was being a_   
_recipient of the Golden Medallion_   
_for her illustrative work on_   
_the children's picture book,_   
_'Hannah Banana and The_   
_Funky Meow Monkey'._   
_Ms. Gammelthorpe was_   
_an active member in the_   
_Hillwood City chapter of The_   
_Junior League, The Hillwood_   
_Gardening Club, and a generous_   
_giver and volunteer to both the_   
_Hillwood Food Bank and_   
_Hillwood Battered Women's_   
_Shelter. In addition, Ms._   
_Gammelthorpe was also_   
_an avid cyclist, parkour_   
_traceuse, and a prize winning_   
_ballroom dancer._   
_Rhonda was preceded in_   
_death by one son, Artillery_   
_Wheeljack Gammelthorpe,_   
_and her beloved paternal_   
_Grandmother, Nicole Descroix_   
_Lloyd. Ms. Gammelthorpe_   
_leaves to cherish her memory,_   
_her devoted loving husband_   
_Thaddeus "Curly" Gammelthorpe,_   
_and her beloved daughter,_   
_Courtney Brookley of the_   
_home. Left also to cherish_   
_Rhonda's memory, are her_   
_parents Buchwald and Brooke_   
_Lloyd, her paternal grandfather,_   
_Julius Lloyd, and her maternal_   
_Grandparents Michael, and_   
_Jenny Wellington O'Shea,_   
_as well as a host of_   
_friends who were also her_   
_family. In lieu of flowers,_   
_it was Rhonda's wish for_   
_persons interested, to please_   
_make a donation to Hospice_   
_of Hillwood City, Hillwood_   
_Women's Shelter, or a charity_   
_of the donor's choice._

It was the strangest funeral he had ever gone to in his entire life.

He could barely remember them because he was so young, but the only funerary events Miles had ever been to prior to that one, was for a couple of people he didn't know really well in the neighborhood.

This celebration of life however, was the most unique, bar none, it was both a wake and funeral combined in one day, but more like a party.

During the viewing, people were laughing, talking, and enjoying themselves around the room, nevertheless, it was hard to frown and dwell on death, when lively, happy disco music, and dance tracks were playing on a loop in the background.

If there had been finger sandwiches, punch, and a mirror ball spinning on the ceiling, you could almost forget that sealed in the closed casket at the back of the room surrounded by beautiful red and white roses, were the earthly remains of who was a much-loved wife, mother, and friend.

There were tears as people filed past to look at flower arrangements and who sent them, as well as photos of the deceased woman with her family. Added to those, there were copies of the individual pages of the children's book Mrs. Gammelthorpe had illustrated, and color prints of her original watercolor, oil, and acrylic artworks that hung in galleries all over the United States, or on walls in private collections sitting atop easels that lined the wall.

And there she was, tucked away in a corner, the most beautiful piece of art her mother ever made, the girl he loved, next to all those shining monuments to a life ended much too soon, desperately trying to hide from the people that had come to pay tribute to her mother.

Miles walked over to the pictures of the family together to look at them, and surreptitiously at Courtney, who knew he was there, but pretended she didn't notice. He would have said something to her, but in lieu of how he had treated her, the boy felt that the very least he could do was act as if he hadn't noticed her as well, because Miles was sure that he was the last person that she wanted to see.

He gazed at the pictures, not in judgment, not in the callous pretense of pretending he did not love Courtney, but just looking at them, the beautiful frozen moments of happier times for the small family. Even though Miles didn't know the Gammelthorpe's well, it didn't mean that he could not feel the loss they had endured, as well as regret and sadness for it.

A chronology of their lives together, the first picture was of the deceased woman held in the arms of her husband, both of them looking so young and happy on what was obviously their wedding day.

Mrs. Gammelthorpe wore a silver white gown with a flowing white veil attached to her dark hair, and Mr. Gammelthorpe was in a sea green tuxedo with a purple cummerbund. The newlywed couples' eyes squinted with genuine, happy smiles, looking so glad to be together for what they thought would be forever. Moreover, as Miles studied more closely, it was no secret where Courtney got her stunning looks from, because Mrs. Gammelthorpe was absolutely gorgeous.

The next picture featured the young woman and man holding a black haired, sleeping infant boy in a hospital environment, the father looked so proud looking down at the baby, and the mother was pressing her lips to the newborn infant's covered head. The poignant scene made Miles' eyes sting, because it wasn't long after that lovely picture was taken, that Mr. and Mrs. Gammelthorpe had to part with their first child, and hold a ceremony much like this one for him.

  
The next picture was of the married couple again, this time on a red, sunset lit beach holding hands, and looking at one another as if they were the only two people in the world in love.

With the next framed image, Miles had an unbidden smile on his lips because of the joy that was so evident in the parents' glowing eyes as they held the perfect girl he loved as a newborn infant.

In another picture, the couple was walking on a beach with a toddling little girl, each one of them holding a tiny hand as she made perfect, cute little footprints in the sand between her mother and father's.

In the last picture, Courtney's mother was standing on a stage behind a podium, accepting some sort of wooden plaque with a gold disc in the middle of it, smiling and holding her hand up looking towards someone in the crowd.

When he was through looking at the pictures, Miles turned with the intention of finding his parents, but found Courtney instead by bumping directly into her, almost knocking her down, actually.

In that moment between them, Miles looked down into the girl's beautiful grey green eyes, unable to draw them away as Courtney's looked up into his. There were no tears in them, but her eyes were red, and so tired looking; with dark circles underneath, obviously showing Courtney hadn't been getting any rest.

Gazing deeper still, he saw the hurt in her heart that the eyes gave a voice to in her hiding silence for the loss of her mother, not to mention the real damage that he had done with his endless teasing, reaching its zenith during their junior class last year.

Though he would have rightfully deserved it, to Miles' surprise, there wasn't any hate in Courtney's eyes, or resentment for him, but what seemed to be a haunting disappointment, which was much worse.

Miles wanted to say something, anything to her to try to make her feel better. He died to let her know that he did like, and care for her; that he didn't mean for a moment any of the cruel words he had used to taunt her with ever since he could remember, but the only words that came from his mouth, was a tiny barely audible, "I-I'm sorry."

Unbelievably, Miles truly was, for everything.

So sorry for the loss of Courtney's mother and her resulting sadness, sorry for teasing her, sorry for being the spark of a thousand taunts, and for his foolishness during what was the worst time of her life that could never be taken back, despite the fact that he wanted to badly.

Courtney in turn simply sidestepped, and walked around him not saying a word without the very hint of a second glance at him. After some reflection, truthfully, that incident in the summer hurt Miles more than any of scowling words, or screaming anger directed at him that morning ever could have, but he could levy no blame, because he deserved it.

As he watched her leave, stopped by people offering condolences she had to politely endure, all Miles wanted to be was the one who comforted her, but he realized now how foolish a sentiment that was then. Glad that he had sense enough then not to, Miles realized that if he had tried, Courtney probably would have thought it was another mean joke she was the punch line to, and it would have made her feel even worse.

Doing the best that thought he could for her, Miles went outside so at least Courtney would not have to look at him anymore, and after couple of hours passed, it was time for the funeral to start in the sanctuary.

A robed priest spoke, and afterwards, in between gathering his emotions, the heartbroken husband of the deceased woman spoke words of beauty that he knew he would never be able to duplicate. Courtney was to say a few words about her mother as well, but instead she played a hauntingly simple melody she had composed just for her, then it was time to go to the cemetery.

  
Miles never really paid much attention to his mother's friend Rhonda when she was over to his house for visits when he was younger, but after he spoke with her on a sunny spring afternoon by chance, earlier in the year, he really wished that he had.

One thing was certain, Mrs. Gammelthorpe had one hell of a sense of humor, not only in life, but also in death.

When everyone got out of their cars at the cemetery, they were all surprised to find that the French Quarter of New Orleans had somehow appeared right in the middle of Hillwood City, because as per the instructions in Mrs. Gammelthorpe's will, a well-dressed jazz band was flown in from Louisiana overnight to play for her.

Men in sharp white suits who were bedecked with black sashes, carried tubas, trumpets, trombones, drums, or umbrellas with tassels on the fringes of them, met the party at the gates, and gathered in formation as the flower covered casket was pulled from the back of the hearse and lifted.

After Courtney and her father took their places, and as a dirge of slow jazz music began to play, the rest of the funeral attendees began to slowly file inside Hillwood Cemetery behind them, with some second line observers that had come along with them from the street to enjoy the music, some knowing the tradition of waving their handkerchiefs in the air while they danced.

After a last, more brief graveside service, the priest stepped aside, and then the casket was lowered into the ground into a square cement vault, with the family stepping forward to say their last goodbyes.

First, Mr. Gammelthorpe cast dirt into the open grave, and then Courtney repeated the act along with her father. When it came time for Mrs. Gammelthorpe's mother and father to cast dirt they didn't, with Mrs. Lloyd breaking down and screaming she wanted her baby back as she collapsed and cried in her husband's arms.

When the proceedings finished, the band began to play " _When the Saints Come Marching In_ " in an upbeat tempo, and other cheerful Dixieland tunes, while the attendees departed for the Gammelthorpe's house for food and socializing.

Despite his mother and father's protests, Miles refused go along, and instead, he wandered aimlessly downtown for a little while, finally stopping at J Mart to buy a loaf of bread before finally winding up in Tina Park to absentmindedly feed the ducks.

* * *

Staring into space, Miles sat in silence in the middle of his closet floor, but jumped when his mother knocked on his bedroom door, and heard thorugh the wall, "Miles, may I come in?"

The boy looked at all the Courtney related things he had strewn on the floor around him, and in panic, Miles muttered one of his sister's favorite words, but then opened the closet door and said something a little cleaner for his mother, "In a minute, I need to ah,"

Helga stood at the bedroom door and heard the sounds of things tossed around through the wall beside her, she knowingly thought to herself, 'Hide my Courtney stash'

As her son made the false excuse of, "Put on a shirt, I-I'm changing!"

As Miles panicked to put papers and things back into the shoebox without thought, he accidentally flung an interesting object unintentionally into the bottom of the box, and tossed newspaper clippings on top of it oblivious to its mistaken inclusion.

"Okay, Mom, you can come in now."

Helga stepped into Miles' room, immediately studying the messy condition of it, as well as the entertaining fact that Miles still had on the shirt he had changed into when he got home that morning.

Looking around at the decorations on the walls, there wasn't an inch uncovered by either posters of sports teams her son rooted for, or Transformers characters. Helga did not know much about the robotic origami per se, but she had at least learned the names of some of them by osmosis, as she had to gather dirty laundry from off of the floor, and put clean laundry back down on the floor, saving the owner a step; or to reclaim dirty dishes.

The room was not as piled up as usual, but it was still bad. The mainstays of crumpled shirts that were deemed wearable one more time, basketball uniforms on the borderline of being able to play the sport by themselves, and clean underwear that he hadn't bothered put into drawers decorated the corners and what would be open space of the boy's floor.

The programming that every mother is possessed of screamed for her to make mention of the words pig and sty in description of the unkempt condition of his room, but she disregarded it when she saw her beloved boy sitting on his bed looking at her with eyes that tore her heart in two.

The understanding woman closed his door, walked over to her hurting son, and addressed him by the name she would never dare repeat anywhere else but in the confines of a closed secure room. "Are you okay, Pooh Bear?" The kind woman asked quietly as she sat beside her aching boy slipping her arm around his shoulder, and gently ran her hand through his father's unruly locks, wanting to make him feel better, but not knowing how.

"Yeah," The boy lied, "I'm just thinking about some stuff."

The woman nodded and wondered how she was going to wriggle into the topic of Rhonda's daughter, but Helga was saved the trouble by the non-sequitur comment of, "I don't really not like her, Mom, even though I've bothered her a lot."

The caring mother confessed, "I know you don't not like her too." Both of them had strange looks on their faces after they had both pieced together what Helga had said in their minds, and then Helga shook her head and asked, "So why tease her then?"

The boy gave his mother a funny look, then declared, "Well, everyone else does, and Courtney is weird, Mom."

The woman raised an eyebrow and said dryly, "Now there are two good excuses if I ever heard them." Miles looked away with the remark he had used to try to cover up how he really felt about the girl. Then the exasperated woman asked, "Miss Gammelthorpe is weird how?"

The boy tried to hide the reasoning behind his actions, failing miserably. "People wouldn't bother her if she didn't do weird stuff all the time! I don't understand why she acts like she does." Miles flung up his hands. "She talks to the rats in biology lab about science like they're people while feeding éclairs to them, and sometimes she just bursts out into song in French for no reason."  
Helga burst out into laughter. "Miles, that's not weird! You and Gertie talk to Chewie and Abner all the time, and your sister speaks fluent French, how is that different?"

The boy just gave his mother a look. "Courtney does it standing on a bench in the courtyard dancing the Can Can in costumes from the drama club storage room!"

Helga did have to admit that was a little odd, but still nothing so strange that it merited avoidance or abuse. "Is that all?"

Miles continued with his verbal manure, "She can recite the periodic table of elements, the atomic numbers to them, and all that crap from memory. She tells everyone who will listen about the local plants, animals, and can give their scientific names from kingdom, right down to species." The boy looked upwards through his skylight, "She also gave a guy on the debate team one hundred dollars so he could buy supplies for a science project of his because he couldn't afford it."

Helga said in admiration and defense of the girl, "Well that's not weird at all! I think that was quite nice of her."

Miles shook his head and asked, "For a time machine he thinks he's building in his locker? And Matt Camaratta wasn't lying to her just to get her money either; the guy actually thinks he's going to succeed!"

Helga had to agree that was strange, but she couldn't resist making the joke of, "Okay, that is ludicrous." The woman smiled widely. "Everyone knows you need a De Lorean for that!"

  
Miles sighed dejectedly, and looked away as his mother pulled herself to sit against the right wall behind him on his bed. When she got as comfortable as she could, Helga ignored the pain in her knee, and positioned a pillow behind her aching lower back.

"She's just weird, Mom." The boy ended in a frustrated tone.

Helga gave her son a look and uttered a phrase she had said, that only God knew how many times, "And yet?"

Miles exhaled a breath and looked upwards at the upper left hand corner of the skylight. There were wispy cirrus clouds in the sky that looked like feathers.

"I love her."

Several dogs barked when a loud car alarm went of in the distance, as Helga exhaled in relief, "Now we're gettin' somewhere."

The boy put his face in his hands and muttered, "God."

Helga rose, looked her imprudent boy straight in the eye, and gave him a bit of tough love. "You are almost a grown man now, Miles, and I think that you should be concerned only with what you think." Helga tried not to sound irritated with her son when she said, "The people you know don't run your life, and neither should their opinions either!" The knowledgeable woman said truthfully, "If any of the people you are friends with would give you grief about liking this girl instead of supporting you and her, then you should get rid of them, because they're not really your friends at all." Helga reasoned, "Not that it matters, but you're a senior in high school anyway, and you won't be seeing most of them again after you graduate probably."

Before he could open his mouth, Helga set her boy even more straight, "If you allow others' opinions to shade the way you feel about Courtney and allow that to keep you from pursuing her, then maybe you don't love her as much as you think you do."

It was hard for her to say this, but Helga had to because it was the truth. "If that is the case, then you don't to deserve to have her, Miles." The boy looked stricken when she said it, but she continued, "You should leave Courtney free for someone else who will love her the way that she should, and deserves to be loved, and not waste her time."

The boy's mother sighed in exasperation, "So, Courtney is a little... eccentric, who gives a crap?" Helga said with a shrug as Miles turned to look at his mother as if she was nuts. "Everybody is a little weird. Besides, pooh," Helga added with affection, yet down turned eyebrows, "It sounds like to me that you are mistaking weirdness with what sounds like a high level of intelligence."

She brushed her hand over the boy's shoulder, "You don't want some dull cookie cutter air head girl with nothing on her mind but the latest number one tunes, and who she's going to text next, now do you?"

The boy shrugged, not able to argue with her logic. "No, that would drive me nuts, actually."

Helga continued wisely, "Sweetie, you can't make people the way you want them to be, you have to accept them for who and what they are. True love is being able to love the person you're with despite their more annoying personality traits, and if you really and truly love someone you take what you love about them joyfully, and work around the other crap that gets on your nerves." Helga said with humor on her voice and a flippant hand gesture, "Hell, Miles, your father has to do it for me all the time!"

Miles gave his mother a strange look then looked downwards muttering, "It doesn't matter now anyway, because Courtney doesn't like me." He had grappled with the thought all day, but it hurt the boy worst to say it aloud, despite the fact that it was so, "She has every right to not give me the time of day, and nothing I could do would ever change her mind." Helga's heart went out to the boy when he quietly said, almost as if he was once again a little boy, "She said she hated me, and that she wished that I were dead." Miles swiped underneath his nose. "Courtney wants me to die, Mom. How do you start to make amends to someone who would like to go to your funeral?"

Helga gently stroked her son's back and knew the pain her boy felt.

She, just like everyone else in the world living, knew all too well the sting of unrequited love, and knew what it was to hurt someone she loved more than life.

Helga teased Arnold to hide the fact that she loved him as a child, and would have sooner died rather than have anyone find out because she feared ridicule. Helga gathered Miles feared the same type of censure from his peers if he ever admitted his love for Courtney.

It wasn't right for him to torment the girl no matter the motivations, and the woman was no doubt irritated with the way he had acted, but she did understand from her own experiences why he would act that way. Despite the fact that Miles was nearly grown, that did not mean that he was not still young, dumb, and a little immature still.

He placed too much value on the opinions of his peers true, but just as she had, as everyone else does at his age while still in the throes of attaining selfhood. It was a painful but necessary part of life to sometimes do foolish things that were obviously wrong to fit in with the crowd. It wasn't until an individual had some life experience did they gain the courage to break away from the flock, and fly on their own. Despite the hard road it was to navigate, with falls being inevitable, everyone was the stronger for walking on it.

Helga also had to remind herself of the fact that even though Miles was physically grown, her son really was still really still just a had only turned seventeen in June of that year, and had not had many of the life experiences that helped people grow into adulthood.

As per the young woman in question, Miles confessing his love for Courtney was the first step. Miles realizing there were ramifications for his actions was the second, and actively doing something about it would be the third step that would lead to a lot of maturation for her son; and Helga realized that what he needed was encouragement, not her shaking her index finger at him. Ultimately, she couldn't do what he needed for him, that was Miles' test, but she could certainly help push him in the right direction, because no one living in the world was too old or young for guidance.

Miles added, "I didn't mean to hurt her mom, but I know it doesn't matter because I did. And now she'll never give me a chance to tell her how sorry I am, or how I really feel about her."

  
The woman consoled her heartbroken, silly boy. "Oh, Miles, Courtney doesn't hate you, and I am sure that she doesn't really want you to be dead. She's just had so much to deal with, Sweetheart, with all of it piled one on top of the other with no rest, and Courtney kept so much bottled up within her for so long, that she exploded this morning, with you there to be exploded upon."

Truthfully, Helga had to add, "She is justified to be a little," Helga tried to choose a nice word, "Irritated with you, but what you need to do now, Miles, is demonstrate to her who you really are, not the person you've shown her."

Helga saw the look in her boy's eyes and sighed, she wasn't taking back any of what she had said, but decided to put a little frosting on his home made cake made of crap to sweeten it a little.

"Look," The woman said seriously, "I want you to be honest with yourself when I ask you this." Helga put her hand on Miles' face, and led his eyes to look into hers so there would be no distractions. "In spite of everything that has happened, and even if none of the people you know would never have anything to do with you again if they knew how you feel about her, would you still have affection for this girl?" Helga further defined, "I don't mean a little crush, or infatuation with her looks either, do you really and truly love this girl?"

Helga could not believe that she was taking a page from Mrs. Coach Wittenburg's playbook as she said, "Does she make you feel all goofy inside?"

Miles thought on the question for a moment, and then nodded. "Yes she does, and I really do."

Helga patted her son on the back injecting some hope into the conversation. "Well, Kiddo, you can't ever take back the past, but you can always build upon the future." Helga scoffed, "You very well know how badly I treated your father when we were little kids, but he forgave me for it, and no matter what, there is always hope, Miles." With confidence, she added, "You also are certainly not as bad a person as you may have lead Courtney to believe by any stretch of the imagination either."

Brightly Helga added as Arnold might have, "Besides, Darling, you are dwelling only on the negatives of this situation, and not even looked at the silver lining." Miles gave his mother a look, but she continued, "I do believe that you fought for the honor of the lady fair this morning despite the consequences or opinions of others, didn't you?" Miles nodded as Helga compounded, lightly running her fingers through his hair so as not to hurt his sore spots, "You've realized how wrong you've been in the past, haven't you?"

Miles fought it, but a small smile cracked on his lips as Helga bore a bigger one on hers. "Yeah, I guess so."

Helga shook her head, "I know so, and in that vein, I also believe that you want to try to make things right with Courtney now, don't you?"

Miles asked with hope, "Do you think she'd listen if I told her how I really feel about her, and said I'm sorry again?"

Helga sighed, and said, "Well, you'll never know unless you get off your butt, make a move, apologize to her for being a jackass, tell her the truth, and go from there." Helga made a waving motion with the backs of her hands. "If she forgives you great, go ye forth and make kissing," Miles had an incredulous look on his face. "If not, at least you'll know, and you can move on."

Miles' happier expression dropped when he pondered dejectedly, "If I go to talk to her in person, and she might not listen to me though." Then he struck upon a bad idea. "I could write her a poem!"

The loving mother tried to think of a nice way to dissuade her son from the poetry idea without hurting his feelings. She remembered what she had found scribbled on the back of the 'Baseball Bi-Monthly' magazine that Abner was trying to eat, another poem, but this one was entitled, 'My Love Is Like Liver'.

After reading it, she handed the magazine back to the four legged porcine disposal unit to finish with her blessings, but only because it was covered with slobber.

Helga patted her resolved son on the shoulder and said kindly, "This isn't quite the situation that calls for flowery words, Sweetie, but plain sensible talk." Helga thought for a moment, and then wisely added, "Wait until you two know each other a little better before giving her your poetry."

Not wanting to hurt his feelings, or stifle his creativity, the loving mother thought for a moment, patted her poor boy on the back, then settled for a tactful, "It's special, Son."

Miles asked, "But how can I tell her? I need something special to prove how much I love her, but I'm afraid anything I would do to show her would be kind of dumb."

Miles' mother thought for a moment, and smiled at the best thing that her fourth grade teacher Miss Slovack, that anyone had ever taught her in her entire life. "The most beautiful gift can come in the plainest box, Miles. Just speak from your heart and everything will be okay."

The loving mother kissed her son on the cheek and said, "I'm going to order pizza in a little while." Before Miles could say anything to comfort her, like every other time she had tried to cook something exotic, with an abashed smile, she looked to the side admitting, "Goulash didn't turn out so hot again."

The amused mother watched her son try not to look so relieved, and burst out into laughter. "I'm going to place an order for it in an hour or so, so when you're ready, come down and set the table in a little while, okay?"

Miles dutifully replied, "Okay." As his mother turned to leave, Miles spontaneously leapt from his seat, grabbed his mother into a tight hug, and after a few moments, he broke the embrace and kissed her cheek. "Thanks, Mom."

The boy's swollen face was the happiest she had seen it that day, and the kind mother was so glad she had something to do with that, and then as if she couldn't feel any better, Helga's heart swelled when she heard, "I love you!"

Feeling as if she had done a great deal of good, and not even caring her goulash had turned to crap anymore, Helga returned with all of her loving heart, "I love you too, Pooh Bear." then walked down the steps closing the door behind her.

* * *

For a few minutes the boy laid back on his bed, looking up through the skylight wondering what he could do to try to show Courtney his true feelings, proving that he was really sorry and cared about her; perhaps winning a long shot chance at her heart.

Motorama, his best idea for a poem ever, wasn't finished yet.

Courtney would see Pork Rind Kisses over his dead body.

My Love is Like Liver was weird, and try as he may, Miles couldn't think of a phrase that rhymed with garbage truck in one of the others poems that he had been slaving over too, so he was at a loss as to what to do.

Then, as if inspired by heaven above, it hit Miles like a sack of baseballs in the face about what his mother had to say about proving he was not as bad as Courtney thought.

Of course!

In great excitement, Miles threw open the closet and looked down on the floor. He gathered up the pullover, another object, then sat down at his computer and started to type a plain yet elaborate prayer for judgment.

"Dear Courtney,"

Soon enough, the hopeful boy was finished, and he couldn't believe that he had written the letter so quickly, but the girl he loved was his muse, and it was so easy once he got started.

Miles prayed that Courtney didn't think he was crazy, or some kind of a stalker when she read what he had to say then saw everything else along with it, but the humble boy did hope that she did read the letter, and that somehow perhaps, it could buy him the chance of a miracle. Soon enough, and extremely overexcited, Miles rumbled down the steps looking for his mother in his own special way, bellowing all over the house, "Mom! Mom! Mom!"

Helga stepped out of the sitting room and said, "Yes, yes, yes?"

As Helga scanned her eyes over Miles' face, she observed that he was a little sweaty, his eyes dilated. Any other time, Helga would have been worried about her boy's emotional state, but after the events of the morning, and their talk upstairs, she was just happy he wasn't looking as depressed as he had been that morning. "Did you order pizza yet?"

The woman shook her head negatively wondering why dinner had become such a dramatic reason to run through the house screaming like a wild man. "No, not yet, why?"

Arnold stuck his head out of the entryway to listen as the boy blurted out, "Don't, and please let me go get it!"

Helga shrugged, "But they deliver, and," Then the understanding mother saw the silent pleading look he gave her, then the envelope in Miles' hand. Helga nodded silently, motioned to her boy to follow, reached into the purse sitting on a table by the front door, got out the keys to her Corvette, and handed him forty dollars. "Remember you have to be at work by seven, so don't fart around, and while you're out I want you to top off Jett with mid-grade too, please."

The boy's face lit up as he crinkled the money in his hand, shoved it in his pocket, and took the keys to the red car from his mother.

Arnold chimed in from the doorway of the living room, "Hey, Miles? Get some buffalo wings too!"

Hoping he had not seen or heard anything, the boy muttered, "Okay." Then ran upstairs recklessly to gather up everything he needed for his decisive moment. On the way up, Miles tripped and almost fell on the third to last step, but he caught himself, and didn't miss a footfall.

The two parents took a moment to look at each other, Arnold clueless, and Helga with a grin, and then she exclaimed with her hands flung up to her husband, "There are tons of chicken wings here, and the ones you buy out cost a small fortune!" She motioned with her head, "Go get out some of your doomsday stockpile that's here, and make them yourself, Arnold."

He pouted. "But I don't know how to fix ‘em good like _you do_ , Pop Tart."

Helga waved her sometimes spoiled, man-child husband away with the backs of her hands. "Go on and watch your show, I'll take care of it."

The man turned, smiled wickedly, and went back to his comfortable seat in the family room as Helga rolled her eyes, sighing while walking into the kitchen. Once inside, she growled, stooped over painfully, and then got out a bag of spicy chicken wings. After putting a spread out layer of hard meat on a flat cookie sheet, she tossed the food in the oven to thaw and warm. Soon, Miles was back downstairs, and the rushed boy grabbed four plates, and glasses out of the cabinet, the same number of forks from the drawer, and set the kitchen table in record time.

Not believing that Miles had not only remembered to set the table, but also that he hadn't broken anything in the process, Helga checked to make sure Arnold wasn't spying like usual; then gathered the boy's face into her gentle hands. "Miles, please settle down, Sweetie, everything will turn out okay." The woman looked at her son, kissed his cheek, and then said quite seriously, "Now drive carefully, don't fly, and don't buy any buffalo wings."

The boy stepped into the hall, scooped up his belongings, and swiftly made his way to the garage, and in the kitchen Helga heard the deep rumble of the small block 350-engine turn over, and then watched the car drive out of the backyard towards Miles' destiny.

Shaking her head, wishing Miles nothing but the best of luck, and confident she wouldn't burn anything this time, Helga remembered the basket full of his clean laundry downstairs, so she went down to the basement to retrieve it. After walking upstairs to her son's room, she didn't bother knocking, because obviously Miles wasn't there, so she just walked on in, putting the stack of clean clothes on the floor near the dresser in the corner.

Looking around, the attentive mother also saw an opportunity in her boy's absence, so she began gathering questionably clean items of clothing, and the definitely dirty basketball uniforms strewn all over the floor, most likely eating a hole clean through it one molecule at the time.  
Helga hated to admit it, but they smelled exactly like her daughter's favorite word.

As a mother, Helga had wiped doo doo covered behinds, vomit, blood, urine, slobber and God knew what else she didn't want to remember, without the protection of gloves, and that was just from twenty years worth of pets alone. The smell radiating from Miles' basketball uniforms however, could easily puke a buzzard; so wisely, Helga used a pencil to put those offending articles in the laundry basket.

Soon, she almost had another full load to wash, but as Helga was about to turn and leave; she spied a pair of boxers under the table where the computer was. She drew back the chair, got on her hands and popping knees, then reached into the corner to recover them. When she did, Helga hit her head on the underneath of the table, and made it sway. As a result, the computer growled at her, as if irritated she disturbed its slumber and she rubbed her head silently cursing the minor discomfort.

As Helga rose, she noticed that the screen saver was no longer on, but the black and white body of a long letter was in its stead.

Holding the overfull laundry basket in her arms, and knowing that she shouldn't, as per human and motherly nature, the curious mother nosily glanced anyway.

Soon enough, however, Helga had thrown all pretext of privacy out the window and sat down at the computer reading every single word of the document Miles had written in amazement, absorbing every sweet, heartfelt word, and observation.

Lovely poetry, Helga couldn't believe the simple beauty of the words Miles had written, and the artistic way in which her lovesick son articulated himself.

Upon finishing the letter, Helga felt that Miles had more than proven without a doubt the genuine feelings he held for Courtney, and how much he truly did care for; and love her.  
Knowing she would never have another opportunity again as long as she lived, Helga read the sweet letter one last time as tears stung her eyes with a warm smile.

With no motherly bias whatsoever, Helga thought with great certainty that if Miss Courtney Brookley Gammelthorpe didn't at least consider giving Miles a second chance after reading that, she wasn't worth a single second of his time.

* * *

Miles stood before the diner that it seemed like every kid at Hillwood hung out at after school, The Sugar Shack.

He wanted to as well, but couldn't for obvious reasons.

Even though he already knew it, to make sure, Miles watched across the street hidden behind his mother's parked car to make sure to sit in the section that Courtney was waiting that evening.

Once absolutely sure where to sit, Miles made his way over to the door of the diner carrying an armload of things, glad that it was five thirty and the dinner crowd wasn't there yet to eavesdrop.

The rich smell of food poured out of one of the small chimneys behind the establishment. As Miles steeled his nerves, grasping the door handle to enter the diner, he could see the crown of the raven-haired girl whose heart he was going to try to win fade away towards the back and out of sight.

The hopeful boy pushed the door open, and immediately the smell of delicious food and the sounds of meat frying in fat, or on a grill invaded his senses.

Planning his seating arrangements well, Miles walked down a short aisle of booths, taking one at the window directly across from the street where he had parked his mother's car so he could keep an eye on it. His mother hadn't put the T-tops back onto it when she got home that morning, and Miles was not very trusting in regards to the car.

He was one of the few people she actually trusted the Corvette with, and if anything happened to it, his mother would kill him if Courtney didn't beat her to it when he showed his oversized face in the door.

Putting his potential death on the backburner of him mind for a moment, carefully, Miles tucked the items he carried inside beside him on the bench seat of his booth, and waited for the whim of fate to decide his future.

As he sat in dreadful anticipation, it seemed like hours took place as Miles waited for service. Eventually he heard footfalls, and a familiar voice say, "Hello, what may I," When Miles turned to look up, the smell of French fries, hamburgers, and chicken disappeared, only to be replaced with the heavenly scent of the pullover, but much stronger.

Soon, the lovesick boy's eyes found Courtney's, and he felt his mouth become dry as his heart began to pound furiously in his chest. There was no turning back now, and the torture was almost too much to bear, Miles didn't know if Courtney would ask to have him thrown out, or if she would offer to serve him, if nothing else for a gratuity.

It certainly wouldn't be because she felt any sort of affection for him.

Considering the circumstances of their second meeting of the day, when she looked at his face, Miles was surprised to hear Courtney blurt out in shock, "Dear God!"

Miles turned his head to the side with a questioning look, because if he were not mistaken, in between the horror, and disgust, there could have also been the hint of a little concern in her voice for his welfare.

Wide open, Courtney's eyes examined every feature of Miles' face, and even though she knew that she should not stare like that, she couldn't help but look at the boy's face either, it was hard to miss, because Miles Shortman looked like complete and total hell. His face was terribly swollen, even worse than it was that morning, the cut over his eye was still weeping, and now, his eye was almost closed shut. Even though she had sentiments of wanting to see him in pain in the past, and that day in particular, hitting him herself, when she saw him now, Courtney felt a little sorry for Miles.

Despite her compassionate impulses, she was still tempted to ask her employer to kick him out, or have another server tend to him, but instead of either, seeing how bad he looked, and how painful his wounds must be, instead, Courtney politely, but haltingly apologized. "I, I'm sorry I said that, Miles."

The boy's eyes widened, she called him by name?

Courtney felt that simply because she didn't have any use for the boy, it did not mean that she had a right to be impolite to him, especially since for the time being, he was a customer. Hating to admit it, and ashamed for her behavior, Courtney admitted to herself that she had also not been the picture perfect lady to him that morning exactly either.

A true professional, acting as if nothing had happened, and taking great pains trying not to notice that Miles' head looked like a wet, over-inflated football at the moment, Courtney placed a menu in front of him. "What may I get for you? We have a special on the double bacon cheeseburger with guacamole tonight, and it comes with fries and a drink for six ninety nine."

Quickly, she added, "You get bottomless sweet tea, and coffee, but only one refill on soda."

He was actually tempted, but sticking to the plan, Miles looked up at the beautiful girl, and requested in a deep, gentle voice, "May I please have a glass of ice water, Courtney?"

Stunned by his politeness, and the softness of his voice, the surprised girl took a step backwards, and then walked towards the back to get the boy what he asked for.

Everyone behind the grill, and the few customers seated in the dining area watched in curiosity as the boy got up, dug into his wallet, and put a bill on the table as a tip.

Miles then reached down onto the booth seat, placed a shoebox on the table, draped the neatly folded pullover over that, and then placed a crisp, neat envelope on top of the pullover with the intention of being out the door before Courtney returned with the water.

The only hiccup to his plans, Miles had spent so much time on arranging everything neatly on the table, and making sure that it looked nice, that he was unable to get out of the diner in time, and wound up meeting Courtney halfway to the door.

Holding the cold glass of sweating water in her hand out to Miles, Courtney, not understanding why he was leaving asked, "Is something wrong?"

The boy looked down into Courtney's grey green eyes and opened his mouth, wanting to confess his love for her so badly he could taste it. Miles thought better of it when he took a glance back to the tall muscular man in the doorway of the grill area glaring at him menacingly, then the woman who had her hand on the man's shoulder.

Miles took last look back at the booth he had been sitting in before finally responding thoughtfully, "No, Courtney, nothing's wrong, nothing except for me." The boy chose his words carefully, for he only had one shot at redemption, and did not want to ruin it by misspeaking. "After the way I've treated you, Courtney, I don't have a right to ask you for anything, but if you decide to read it," The boy looked up at the ceiling, then back at the love of his life with his stunning blue eyes piercing hers with heartfelt truth, "I really and truly mean every word of what I wrote in that envelope."

Miles politely stepped to the side walking past the stunned girl, and out the door across the street, and Courtney followed his steps down the aisle of tables, towards the booth where Miles had been sitting.

As the stunned girl watched Miles open the door of the sports car and get into it, he strapped on his seatbelt, and then she listened to the deep, loud, familiar rumble of the Corvette's engine turn over through the window glass.

While she craned her body towards the window to watch it pull away, Courtney put her hand down on the table of the booth he had been sitting at, but instead of the cold, hard surface of the table, her hand met with something soft and familiar.

Immediately, her eyes shot downwards, and to her relieved joy, she found her beautiful black pullover draped over the orange shoebox. "Oh my God." She whispered quietly with her heart pounding, almost not believing the miracle sitting before her.

As if reunited with a lost love, Courtney took the sealed envelope off her beloved pullover, and held it up to unfurl as she hugged it to her chest. Only then did she notice a five-dollar tip lying next to the tattered orange shoebox, next to where she had placed the neat white envelope.

When Courtney found her name written out on the envelope in lovely flowing cursive script, her curiosity demanded that she open it immediately, but customers were starting to come in, and fill her assigned tables.

The curiously frustrated girl, having no other recourse, hurriedly gathered everything on the table in her arms, carried the items to the employee area, and began to tend to her tables.  
She wouldn't be able to open the envelope until her break, which unfortunately was a good while away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Arnold was created by Craig Bartlett, and is owned by Viacom Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The traditional hymn "Oh, When the Saints" also known as "When the Saints" was composed by James Milton Black, and the lyrics were written by Katharine Purvis. No infringement on their work is implied or inferred.
> 
> The perfume "Romance" is owned by Ralph Lauren. No infringement on his property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> Transformers and all related characters including the names, "Arcee", "Tracks", "Ramjet" "Wreck Gar", "Jazz" and "Optimus Prime", and the faction name "Decepticon" belongs to Hasbro Inc./Takara Tomy LTD. of Japan. No infringement is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> Voltron is the property of World Events Productions LLC. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The character Superman was created by Joe Shuster, Jerry Siegel, and is the property of DC Comics, which in turn belongs to Warner Brothers Inc. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> The classical work The Iliad, was told in the oral tradition by Homer, and then later written by students of his verbal history. No infringement on his work is implied, nor should be inferred.  
> The characters "The Summoner" and "The Pardoner" come from Geoffrey Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales". No infringement on his property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> Winnie the Pooh, as well as the affectionate designations of "Pooh Bear" and "Pooh" were created by A.A. Milne. No infringement on his property, or estate, is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The name Corvette and the interior color option for the 1978 Corvette, "Oyster" belongs to General Motors Incorporated, Chevrolet Motor Division. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The vehicle name De Lorean belongs to the late John De Lorean, and the De Lorean Motor Company, now located in Humble, Texas. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The title of this chapter is taken from the instrumental entitled The Upper Left Hand Corner of the Sky, performed by The Maxwell Implosion.


	7. Sweetest Taboo

Miles carried two large pizzas up the steps, the one on top was just cheese for Gertie and his father because they were both purists, but the other on the bottom was loaded with every kind of meat except for human flesh for him and his mother to devour because they were both devout carnivores.

For a welcome change, considering his mother's disastrous attempt at preparing ethnic food once more, the delicious smell of spicy hot buffalo wings came wafting out of the kitchen window to greet his nose, instead of the infamous stench of his sister's favorite word.

As the boy stepped inside the kitchen door, his mother was just pulling the tray of crispy buffalo wings out of the oven. Placing the load down on top of the still warm stove trivets, Helga gave a quick look around for eavesdroppers, and then asked in a whisper, "How did it go, Sweetie?"

Miles gave the hall and doorway the same scrutiny as his mother before divulging the events of his trip. "Well, Courtney was at work, but she didn't have me kicked out when I went in there." With half a shrug he expounded, "She also didn't yell at, or hit me, and she called me by my name instead of what she called me this morning."

Helga was impressed. "Those are all pluses, Kiddo."

Miles sighed while looking up at the overtaxed ceiling fan that had battled mightily in the face of a dreadful foe, and accomplished the seemingly impossible by expunging the odor of his poor mother's goulash out of the house.

Mostly.

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "After everything I did and said, Courtney probably thinks I'm more of an idiot now." Doubting himself more than ever, Miles ventured, "Maybe I should go back over there and explain better or something."

Helga gently put her hand on her aching son's shoulder and didn't dare mention she had the first clue as to his executed plans, or read his sweet letter. "I know that it's going to be hard not to do, Sweetie, but don't start second guessing yourself. If your instincts tell you that you did the right thing, then you did." Helga then advised wisely, "The best thing you can do right now is to be patient, give Courtney some time to think things through, and let her come to you on her own terms, Sweetheart."

With a sigh, Miles admitted, "Yeah, you're right." Helga placed a plate of hot wings on the table with celery cut lengthwise, and a small bowl full of bleu cheese dressing garnishing the middle. The dutiful son poured cold, fizzing cola into ice filled glasses on the table, but stopped long enough to give his mother a sideways smile that hurt his face. "Thanks for everything you've done for me today, Mom."

Stepping towards Miles, Helga searched for a place on her son's face that she thought pressure wouldn't hurt, and kissed him on it gently. After lightly touching his cheek to remove the lipstick she left, Helga tilted her head answering, "That's what I'm here for, Pooh."

"Oh, by the way, Mom, here's your change back." The honest boy said as he reached in his pocket and had a handful of change and some bills in his hand. "There's a lot more left over from dinner and filling the car up than I think you thought would have been."

"Really? How much?" Helga asked.

The honest boy counted, "Eight dollars, fifty seven cents, and a piece of lint that Uncle Arnie or Gertie would probably like to play with."

Ignoring the mention of lint, and her cousin-in-law for her own sanity, Helga took the change, discarded the flat blob of fibers thoughtlessly onto the floor, and noted, "I thought Jett would have taken all of what was left after pizza to get full. I gunned her a little today, because I was in a hurry to get home, you know." She ended, "To take care of you and your sister."

Knowing better, Miles smiled at his mother. "There were leaves on the road, weren't there?"

The woman's teeth bared in a wide grin, as she confessed with her eyes rolled upwards, "Yes, just don't tell your father."

"Don't tell me what?" Arnold asked in an impish tone as he walked in the kitchen.

Helga and Miles said at the same time, "Nothin'." Expecting no less, because they were tighter than a rusty nut on a stripped bolt, the suspicious man gave his wife and son a squint eyed look as Gertie walked inside with Abner following close behind.

Helga took the change, put it in her pocket, and looked at Miles. "I'll give you both equal amounts before you leave tonight, don't let me forget."

"Dinner looks good, 'Hon." Arnold enthusiastically complimented as he dragged a slice of pizza out of the box onto his plate and kissed her temple.

"I made it just for you, Darling." Helga said as she placed a few wings on her plate and dashed red pepper sauce over already inferno hot chicken wings.

As the family began to eat, Helga turned in the direction of her children, and after wiping her mouth, she tried not to sound like she was already pushing them out the door. "So, what's everyone's plan of action tonight?"

Arnold tried not to show so much selfish interest himself as he queried, "Yeah, who's going to that barbecue?"

Gertie pulled the stiff joints of a dressing covered chicken wing apart, sucked the meat off the bones, and then wiped her mouth. "I definitely want to go after work, I get off at nine." The girl looked at her parents, asking with caution, "Are you still sure that it's okay with you?"

Miles gave his sister a dirty look that she didn't see as Helga hid a smile with her napkin, and Arnold shrugged. "We told you both that tonight is free and clear until Midnight."

Miles swallowed the last bit of his last slice of pizza, relieved their parents hadn't changed their minds, and then snapped up two more to gobble down heartily. The disgruntled boy wanted to call his boss 'the troll', but for the benefit of his parents, he mentioned between bites, "I want to stop at the barbecue after work too, but I won't know what my schedule is until Mr. Harkadian lets me know when I get in for my shift."

Knowing better than to rely on the generosity of Miles' employer for anything because he was a bigger asshole than all the assholes living in the world combined, Gertrude panicked. "Crap, Miles!" The boy jumped and looked at his sister strangely. "How are you gonna' pick me up, and go to the barbecue if you might have to stay at work?" Having a well-planned agenda for the evening, Gertie shot up from her seat thinking little very of her brother's predicament, and blurted out, "Wait a minute, I think I have an idea." The girl left quickly, but almost as soon as she left, she was back with an expression of happy relief painted on her face. "Everything's jake, Miles, you don't need to worry about the car tonight."

As Gertie took her seat again, along with another slice of naked pizza and a buffalo drumette, Miles looked at her with a slice of pepperoni hanging out of the corner his mouth questioning artfully, "Huh?"

"Jeez, Miles!" The girl said in disbelief of his lack of knowledge of once hip street slang, "Jake means that it's all good, that everything's fixed." With a quasi-disgusted look up and down at him, Gertie suggested, "You need to get off of that easy listening station you've been streaming online, and get some M-JAZZ between those ears." She generously offered, "In fact, I'll give you payola just so I won't have to listen to it." Gertie shook her head. "Only _you_ could rock out to Bread."

Helga and Arnold were barely able to contain a laugh when Miles rolled his eyes, and dismissed her suggestion with a groan, "Whatever you say, Ms. Freed." Gertie glared at him, but he was able to distract her by asking, "What are we doing about after work now?"

Gertie took a sip of soda and gave a minor dissertation, "You're going to drop me off at work tonight like usual, but instead of you meeting me after your shift, Kyo is going to come clean out his bag at the comic shop. He said he would stick around until we close up, and then give me a ride back to his place at nine instead." When Miles' eyebrow rose, Gertie continued with dizzying intellect. "That way, you'll have the car so in case you can't come get me when I get off work, so you don't have to worry about begging your boss to come pick me up."

His sister was seldom selfish, but Miles could not help but find humor in how quickly Gertie could move to cover her own favorite word in a pinch with the correct motivation, figuring that their friend was the at the root of it. After he put everything together in his head, Miles stated, "Okay, so that means that I can have the car to myself tonight after I drop you off at work, is that what you meant, Miss Shortman?"

Gertie said slowly, "Yeah." Therefore, her obviously confused brother would be able to get on the same page.

Alternately, Miles had a wide grin plastered on his face. "That's all you would have had to say."

Gertie snarled at him, and Miles would have thrown in some teasing about Kyo that only she would get, but she had helped him that day, and he didn't want her pissed off at him either because he was sore, and his sister had hurt him for much less.

Gertie rolled her eyes, and in half disgust she declared as she gobbled down another chicken wing, "Oh, you're so lazy, Miles, always wanting to do things the easy way when the hard way is much better!"

Miles held the remains of a crust between his fingers and pointed at Gertie with it, "Why do things the hard way, when the easy way gets it done just as good in about half the time?"  
Arnold and Helga shared a light chuckle at the normal banter restored between their children, glad to see them in a good mood again.

Soon everyone was finished eating, and it was time for the kids to start getting ready to go to work, but they had their responsibilities to take care of first. While Miles carefully toted an overfull, stinking, and disturbingly warm bag of garbage out of the kitchen as if he were transferring glowing nuclear waste, Gertie popped the last hot wing on the serving tray into her mouth and stacked the last dish onto the pile going to the sink.

After drawing a hot bath for the dirty dishes to soak in, and squeezing too much soap into them again, Gertie put a yellow glove on her right hand, but found the one for on for the left wouldn't fit. Not caring either way, as she was about to immerse her hands into the warm soapy water, Helga walked up next to her, rolled up her own sleeves, and pointed downwards. "You're not going to be washing dishes with that hand the way it is!" Gertie was about to argue, but Helga whispered cautiously, "I've got something more important I want you to do for me anyway that will more than make up for the dishes."

Helga bent backwards looking out of the doorway, saw Arnold's feet up on the ottoman in the sitting room, and knew she would never have a better opportunity. Quickly pulling her surprised daughter down to the side by her short sleeve, Helga craned her head down low, and then said in a whisper, "I want you to go on a mission for me, Agent Nine."

Gertie lowered her head in response, saluted, and asked in a mischievous whisper, "What, Chief?"

Helga pointed towards a gallon-sized container on the floor next to the pantry door. "Take that unopened container of crap your father bought today, and sneak it down to the car!" Helga took another glance out the door before adding, "I want you to give it to Grubworm tonight." Helga nodded with authority, "She'll know what to do with it."

The girl gave her mother a strange look. "The Director will kill me, Chief!"

Helga patted her girl on the shoulder and gave her a wink, "Don't worry, Agent Nine, I'll take the heat from the Director." With a smile, Helga handed Gertie a flimsy plastic grocery bag with something inside of it. "Here, this is your gear."

Detecting light weight inside, Gertie reached inside the bag and found a textured rubber ball with a small hole in it. "Mom, this is a cat toy." She turned the dimpled pink sphere it in her fingers, tossed it into the air, caught, then shook it near her ear; making the bell inside ring.

Helga snatched the ball away from Gertie before she inadvertently hurt her already injured hand any worse. "Oh sure, its great to play with now, but the fun ends when it rolls underneath the couch." Gertie's eyebrow cocked upwards, and Helga shout whispered, "What?" Then her mother confessed a bit more knowledge about it than she should have. "It's hard to get out from under there, even with a broom."

Gertie looked to her side at her mother's explanations, and getting back to the task at hand, Helga thrust the empty bag back into her daughter's uninjured hand. Emphasizing the need for hurry married with stealth, Helga advised wisely, "Now, get going while the sentry isn't at his post."

With the dismissal, Gertie scooped up the container up into the bag, and hoped it would hold as she sneaked it down to the car without her father being any the wiser.

Once done with her mission, Gertie came back to the kitchen only to find that her father was huddled over the sink helping her mother wash dishes. Feeling irresponsible because someone else was doing her work, the conscientious girl wondered, "Are you sure you don't want me to wash the dishes?"

After Helga blew a handful of suds towards her husband's head, and Arnold squirted his wife with the sprayer, Gertie smiled as her father observed, "Hey, I forgot how much fun it was to do this!"

Helga bumped the side of Arnold's hip with hers, and he didn't notice the knowing wink she gave their daughter. "No, Sweetie, you've done enough to help tonight, so you go on ahead and get ready for work."

All concerns taken care of for the moment, Gertie ran upstairs to take a quick shower, and change, because there was no way in hell that she was going to let Kyo see her looking like she did then.

Especially tonight.

* * *

After reading the letter that Miles had given her that afternoon in its entirety for the fourth time, Courtney sat at the table in the break room staring at the shoebox sitting in front of her.

Courtney hadn't plucked up enough courage to look inside yet, but the cautious girl already knew what some of the contents were already, and that alone stayed her hand.

However, just like a fifty-car pile up with bloody, disjointed fatalities, human nature dictated that she would eventually have to look inside, even though she had convinced herself that she did not want to.

As the girl prepared herself for more altering of the reality she thought she once had a good grasp on, she pondered all the things that she knew as a child that she thought was unshakable.  
Courtney wanted to believe in them with all of her heart at some point in life; but they turned out to be untrue later, and with each discovery, a little more of her innocence washed away, like grains of sand with the tide of age.

A cape and cowl, no matter how well made, would never miraculously give her super strength, invulnerability, and the ability to fly.

None of her cats would ever love her enough to make the supreme sacrifice, and eat her broccoli for her.

Santa Claus, leprechauns, the Easter bunny, and the tooth fairy weren't real, but in fact her well-meaning parents.

Contrary to what her mother told her when she was old enough, Courtney found that she wasn't made out of magic, sparkles, love, and rainbows, but instead created through the meeting of a sperm cell and an egg. The shocking fact that mother and father had sex to accomplish it stunned her when she was given "the talk" by her mother when she was twelve, because Rhonda was unable to hold it off any longer.

Courtney was grateful that at least her mom cared enough to warp her mind first, before public school classes on the subject, or misinformation learned riding home on in the back of the bus had a chance to.

Therefore, out of all those life-changing epiphanies, if the piece of paper that she was given that afternoon, and had read over four times over was true, and not a ridiculous joke, Miles Shortman was in love with her.

Courtney Gammelthorpe was hard pressed to wrap her mind around that fact though, because he was supposed to hate her as much as she did him now.

Moreover, if Courtney wasn't confused enough before, more well meaning but muddled help was on the way.

Noticing her favorite employee seated, and staring off into space deep in thought, Courtney's employer, walked into the room and sat down across the table from her.

From what she had heard from the other kids that went to Hillwood High that worked there too, she had a fairly a good grasp of what had happened that day in the hallway at school, and after some thought about it, she couldn't help but roll her eyes at the stupidity of the boy who obviously loved Courtney. As such, she wanted to help the girl, but didn't know if she should interfere, because it was none of her business.

Of course, that last thought was thrown completely out of the window, because Audra was her mother's child, pre disposed to meddling, and couldn't help but stick her oar in whether it was asked for or not. With that realization, it was merely wondering about the where to begin that had the woman puzzled. This time for a change, and going completely against the grain of her being, she at least attempted to be tactful in this instance.

With a well-heeled southern accent that for a change, wasn't so thick that you could cut it with a knife, Audra lead with, "Cheetara, are you alright?" Courtney looked up at her knowing exactly what was coming as the southern transplant sat down across from her. "You've been sittin' there for the last few minutes looking at that box like someone hit you on the head with a shovel that somebody killed a black snake with."

Still unable to process her thoughts enough to speak coherently, Courtney instead held up a few sheets of unfolded paper from across the table for her employer to take, while staring blankly at the shoebox in front of her.

Since she was offered a look without asking, and being nosy by nature, the woman took the wrinkled papers and began to read.

Halfway through the process, knowing the entire back-story, the abuse her employee had suffered, and despite the fact that she wasn't personally involved; Audra still had to stop with the shock of it, and start reading the letter all over again.

* * *

_Dear Courtney,_

_I haven't ever written an apology letter to anyone before, but I think that it is more than way past time that I did so to you, eleven years overdue, actually. It is too much, too little, too late I know, but I owe this to you, more than I can ever begin to return._

_I know that I have been cruel to you for years, and there is no excuse for it. I avoided you when we were children, and much worse, when I didn't, I was a fair weather friend, playing with you only when no one else was around, and then ignoring you when others were available._

_Unsatisfied with the horrible way I treated you when we were younger; I have also made you miserable now that we are older. Even worse than that, but not by much, my actions also made others feel comfortable with making your life at school difficult as well._

_The most unforgivable fact of all is that I hurt you during what was the hardest thing you have ever had to endure in your whole life last year, and part of this one._

_I have earned your hate, Courtney, you are more than entitled to harbor it, and I rightfully deserve it._

_You were right to be angry with me this morning, and considering everything you've been through, with me at the root of much of it, I am fortunate that you are a forgiving soul; and didn't kill me. Even if you had slaughtered me at school today, I do not think there would be a court in the world that would have convicted you for it, and in fact, you might have even gotten the "done good" award as a reward for your public service._

_Like all criminals say before their sentencing, I know that there is nothing that I can say or do to ever take away any of what I have done to hurt you away, but I can say with all truthfulness that if I could, Courtney, I would in a heartbeat._

_It is not right, and I should not have, but I teased you because I thought that was the only way in which I could get near, and talk to you. I also used teasing to cover up for why I was around you for no good reason, or really close. I was afraid that people would tease me if they knew how I truly feel about you with all my heart, just how much I really do care for and love you, and that offers more evidence of my stupidity and cowardice._

_I was so foolish to allow other people make me think of you in ways that you aren't for as long as I can remember, and instead of defending you, as I should have, and wanted to, I was a coward who simply went along with it._

_I can't begin to think about how bad that made you feel. It certainly shouldn't have, especially coming from someone, and other people like me; but I know that it did._

_When I write this, please know that I'm not trying to absolve myself from anything I've done. I knew it was wrong to treat you so badly, and I also knew what was going on with your family, so I can't even plead ignorance to that. I just didn't have the good sense, or conscience enough to realize what it was actually doing to you._

_I just want to honestly, and truthfully offer an apology for everything I have done against you, because that is all I can do. Please know that I truly am sorry, Courtney, for treating you the way I have, and for the way others have treated you through my example._

_Now, even though I have apologized for my actions, it is not enough, and doesn't even begin to atone for what you have suffered, and the worst thing is that I cannot even drop to my knees, and beg your forgiveness for what I have done to you._

_Forgiveness is not a gift, nor is it something that you do for somebody else, but for yourself._ _I am not writing this for you, however, but for me, because unfortunately, I am not like you at all._

_I am a selfish person, Courtney, something you would never know anything about._

_You are one of the most kind, selfless, and giving souls I have ever known, and whether you know it or not everyone who knows you, loves you._

_I regret not having the courage to tell you this earlier instead of now, my opinion of you doesn't matter in the slightest, but that is what I really think about you, instead of all of the ridiculous name calling garbage I have been spewing around people who I was trying to impress so that they'd be my friends._

_I foolishly thought that they were cool when actually; they were the farthest thing from that._

_Showing no better judgment older than I did when I was younger, I cast my lot with the wrong people, and found myself very wrong about them. I paid for my lack of intelligence in that respect as well, and I could say that I received exactly what I deserved this morning from them, but I find that it wasn't nearly enough._

_Turn about is indeed fair play, Courtney._

_I never meant for everyone else to follow my worthless example, and if I had any better sense, I wouldn't have ever set it to begin with._

_In respects to you, Courtney, all I can do now is stand outside with my face plastered to the window that is your beautiful world, and regret the fool I have been._

_It is certainly not your problem, as I have done this to myself._

_If I had treated you better, I wouldn't have a reason to write this, or to be waiting at home or at work hoping, and praying you'd read this letter instead of throwing it away the second you got it._   
_God knows that you would be well entitled to if you did, you don't owe me anything but the contempt that I have rightfully earned._

_However, you are reading this letter, and thankfully for me, you are a good person, Courtney, certainly better than I ever thought of being; and you live to make the world better, and give blessed second chances._

_Someone special told me that I can't take back the past, but only build upon the future, so maybe if I tell you why I love you so much, you'll see it in your good heart give me a second chance too._

_I can't tell all the reasons why, because there isn't enough paper in the world to write them on, but make no mistake when I say in all truthfulness that I truly do love you so much, Courtney Brookley Gammelthorpe._

_I don't just see you as another person in the crowded halls at school, or in the neighborhood, or define my feelings for you with the overused 'like you like you' from the days of the playground._   
_I don't have some shy, school boy crush that fritters away after a short time, and despite the fact that you are truly breathtakingly beautiful; I am not enraptured by that either._

_I am in love with you, simply because of whom and what you are; an intelligent, good, kind hearted, and decent person._

_I have loved you in secret for a long time, and I know you probably won't remember it, but I fell for you irretrievably beginning on a warm spring day in Tina Park, ending later at my house._

_I was on the slide, and you were on the swings. Far be it from me to use any sort of equipment the way intended, so I was sliding forwards with my legs underneath me complete with my mask and cape. When I reached the bottom, my knees dug into the sand under the end of the slide. There was broken glass imbedded in it, and when my weight hit it, my jeans and knee was cut._

_I wasn't cut badly enough to need stitches, but it was enough to make me bleed. You came over, and tried to help me up, but I wouldn't let you because I was crying, and embarrassed to be doing so, and I didn't want you to see._

_In that vein, I called you an ugly name, pushed, and made you fall down to make you want to go away, but despite that attempt, you helped my sister pull me home in my wagon anyway, so I wouldn't experience more pain by walking home._

_After mom bandaged my cut, Gertie ran upstairs to play with her dolls, and we were alone on the couch watching cartoons until your parents came to pick you up. When they arrived, first you looked to see if anyone was watching, and then you kissed my bandaged knee. You followed that sweet kindness with a kiss on my cheek, and then you told me that even Batman probably cried sometimes; and for me not to feel bad about it._

_I never forgot that, even after all this time, and that, Courtney, is how you came to own me heart and soul._

_Actually, I wanted to marry you then, Miss Gammelthorpe, even though we were no older than six years old._

_After reading all of that, I know you're bound to be thinking, 'that idiot is crazy', and I have to confess that if my words haven't convinced you of that, the items that are in the shoebox will finish the job properly._

_Hopefully however if you're still reading, and not calling the police to have me arrested, or an asylum to haul me away to a padded room somewhere, you may ask how I could love you, seeing as I don't know the first thing about you._

_The thing is, Courtney, I really do know the first thing about you, hundreds of other wonderful things, actually, and the more I learn about you everyday, the more I can't help but fall for you harder._

_You have a quirky sense of humor, a loving, giving nature, you are loyal, strong, and limitlessly kind too, you treat everyone you meet like a friend, and accept them for who they are. You always think of the other person first, and take care of everyone else before even beginning to think about yourself, which is sadly, scarce._

_I have seen it too._

_You take care of everyone, even those who you like a little less than others. I hope that you can appreciate how rare you are, and know that there aren't many people in the world so amazing like you; and I am so blessed to know you even though I really don't deserve to._

_This is just a little collection of stuff I know about you that either impresses, or just makes me want to hug you, and never ever let you go, Courtney._

_You took care of your mother when she got sick._

_You kept up your grades, competed on the track, and the debate team; and helped with fundraisers with the drama club, even though you're not a member, just because they were helping someone who needed it desperately._

_Despite everything that was going on with you, you never told anyone at school about what you were going through personally, or complained, not once. You even held down a job waiting tables along with everything else, and still found time to take care of your mom._

_Not many people of any age could, or would even bother do something as noble as that, even if they loved the person who was sick, but everyone isn't you, Courtney._

_You haven't stopped caring for your mother now that she's passed either._

_The paper made a mistake and said Tuesday in her obituary, but you go to the cemetery every Friday, because that is the actual day that your mother passed away._

_The people in the shop you buy flowers from try to give you a discount on the cost of the roses you buy because they loved your mother, so alternately you. You however won't ever let them knock the price down for you, because you know that they are having financial difficulties because of low traffic due to road construction nearby on Hillcrest Street._

_Your usual purchase is five red long stemmed roses because that was your mom's favorite flower, but you do not put them all on her grave though, and you abide by a strict ritual when you do so._

_You put one of the roses on Cynthia Snell's grave first._

_I am not sure exactly why you put a flower on Ms. Snell's grave, but I think it's because people have defaced Cynthia's headstone for killing her backstabbing sister and good for nothing, deceitful fiancé, and you think they are picking on her unfairly. You have context for such, and for that, I am so sorry._

_You then place one flower apiece on your father's parent's graves, one on your brother Artillery's grave, and the last one you tend is your mother's. You stay and talk to her awhile, and sometimes you leave her a piece of her favorite candy or a sealed card._

_Before you wonder, I promise that I have never eaten the candy, or opened and read any of your cards. I don't know who takes them away after they sit out for awhile, but I swear it is not me._   
_Sometimes you have broken down and cried, but only until you fought it to the last, and you cannot know how many times I've wanted to walk over to you, and just hold you when you were upset. It hurt so much to see you weep, and unable to do anything to comfort you._

_Thinking on it, I doubt that you would have cared for me to comfort you since I have caused you nothing but agonies. I know it would have been strange, worrisome, and a plethora of other adjectives for me to just pop up from behind a hedge of overgrown boxwoods out of nowhere to hold you without screaming bloody murder, so I just kept my distance, and hoped that you were okay._

_As far as your philanthropic endeavors at large, both public and private goes,_

_You are the one that put the roll of money that could choke a cow in the collection bucket for Paris France's family to help pay for his medical treatments during the drama club bake sale. You were clever, and looked around before you did, thinking that no one saw you do it, but I did._

_Even though his family put out fliers around school asking for the person who did it to step forward so that they could thank you properly, you never did. I was sorely tempted to tell Paris' family about you and the beautiful thing you did, because I thought you deserved recognition for it, but that would have betrayed your intentions and wishes so I didn't._

_I know that it's beyond weird for someone to confess their loyalty to you in secret while making your life hell in public, but after some thought, I understood that you didn't give that money for Paris out of pride or a desire for recognition, but because you genuinely wanted to help._

_I think you felt like someone knowing what you did would somehow take away from the goodness of it, and the spirit in which it was done, but then again, Courtney, that's just another one of my many theories._

_You give the lunch ladies and your teachers birthday cards, and small four piece boxes of chocolate candy, even the ones you don't like very much, like our American history teacher Mr. Hierl._

_You support the sciences with your financial underwriting of the time machine that Matt is building in his locker. I guess that some people would say that what he is doing is a waste of time and what you are doing is a waste of money, but powered flight was once a fool's dream too, space travel as well. Maybe space-time travel is not as big a departure from the realistic as one might think._

_You tutor your fellow students in French after school, and refuse to accept the extra credit points for it because you want to do it, simply for the sake of helping, and sharing your love of French culture. I'm sure that you would be more than happy to tutor everyone in Italian if students needed it as well, but it is not offered as a language elective at our school._

_You buy a bag of canned food and donate it to the Hillwood Food Bank every other week with some of your paycheck in honor of your mother._

_Your boundless kindness even extends to animals._

_You love cats, so you feed all the stray ones out of your own pocket behind the place where you work, and you have even taken some of the less feral ones home as pets. Until your mother got sick, you spent what little free time you had at the no kill animal shelter on Prince Street feeding the dogs and cats, and changing litter boxes with Kyo Johannsen._

_In addition, here is just a collection of odd things I have learned by following you around over the years._

_I know, and I'm sorry._

_You once liked to go to the country club your parents were members of, hide in the bushes, yell "Five!", and blow air horns as the golf players were teeing off, alongside your mom and dad. The club eventually kicked all of you out, and banned you from the grounds, but it didn't stop you three from doing it until they put up a chain link fence and threatened to call the cops._

_I don't know if I should say this, but your mom was, and your dad is thirty-one flavors of cool, as are you._

_You were the one who put the doll dresses on all of the rats in biology lab, as well as put the little tea set and table in the cage. The éclairs you served them were a nice touch._

_You sing the songs of Edith Piaf in the English hall girls' bathroom during class changes because it has good acoustics. You also dance the can-can in the courtyard at school on a picnic table during lunch in a pilgrim dress, and try to get others involved because you love French culture, and the naughty irony of doing a blatantly sensual dance in the chaste garb of one of John Milton's elect._

_You haven't done it much lately, unfortunately, but when you laugh, Courtney, its magic! Beautifully loud, your eyes sparkle and squint as you chuckle, and you throw your head back; usually slapping whoever is nearest to you whether you know them or not, on the shoulder or back._

_You have continued in the tradition of your mother in that you love cultivating roses. You cross pollinate them yourself with a fine-tipped paintbrush so that you can get different colored petals on your roses, or streaks. I think the white streaked red ones are the prettiest ones you've ever cross-pollinated._

_Your favorite color is blue, gravitating towards the royal hue, and it is the only color of sports drink you will drink, because you think it gives you good luck. You always bring blue drink with you to all your track meets just to make sure you have it in case there isn't any at the venue._

_You have your hair cut half-length; because that was the style your mother wore her hair in when she was running track for Hillwood High. You also tie your hair in a ponytail with a blue scrunchie for each run because you think those too, give you luck, not to mention the fact that it both matches and completes your stylish track ensemble._

_(The scrunchie in the shoebox is one you left in your desk in biology class because it was stuck to some gum. I didn't go into the girls' locker room to get it, your bag, or anything like that. I tell you that so you'll know that I'm just a big dumb stalker jerk and not a pervert stalker thief)_

_I am not quite sure if Thundercats is your favorite cartoon, but you draw the Eye of Thundera in your notebooks a lot, well, at least you do in history class because it bores you._

_In turn, I watch you in American History class because it bores me too, while you never could._

_You write The Code of Thundera- Justice, Truth, Honor, and Loyalty in the books too, and even though you were raised Catholic, you jokingly tell people that you follow 'The Code' because conventional religion has failed you, but that isn't quite so because you go to services regularly._

_Your nickname is "Cheetara" because that is what your father started calling you when we were little, because wherever you went, you were always running. You later let the nickname carry over to your track career for Hillwood High, because you are wicked fast. Your biased employer at the diner where you work liked the nickname so much, that she didn't bother to give you a separate identity for there, but simply adopted it for usage at the Sugar Shack as well._

_You push yourself hard, sometimes too hard in the attempts to run an under four minute mile._   
_Your best times I have had you clocked during the attempts I witnessed are four minutes one second, and four minutes three seconds; and the wind was at your back both times._

_You like to go to J-Mart, and buy those little bags of gummy bugs with the sour liquid filling inside. The yellow ones with the blue goo inside, which seems to be a theme with you, are your favorites; you eat those first; followed shortly after by green, yellow, and lastly red._

_You hate the flavor of orange, so you never eat them, but you don't throw them away either, you take them to the park; and place them on anthills. I am guessing you do that so the ants can have a day off and won't have to work so hard, which I think is sweet._

_(I also put two bags of them into the box for you; but I left them sealed so that you can weed out the orange ones to feed the ants at your discretion.)_

_You broke a nail on the auditorium door a couple of weeks ago while gathering for the first assembly of the year. Your response was to cut the rest of your nails off during it as if it were no big deal, instead of acting like you died and went through the burning agonies of hell as any other girl might have._

_Despite your father's fevered influence to the contrary, you adamantly love classic American muscle cars. As such, you purchased a 1978 Corvette from the junkyard on Friendship Church Road off highway number eight with your own money, instead of accepting the new Porsche your parents offered to buy you._

_Your car is the standard silver anniversary version, not the pace car edition with the front and rear spoiler options on it, which I believe I heard you once say were, and I quote, 'butt ugly', to Kyo Johannsen._

_When you got it, your Corvette was beige on top and brown on the bottom, but you had that media blasted off at a local paint shop; and had them shoot grey primer on it because you hated the colors._

_Even though you are farming most of the work out on the car, you are doing what restoration work you can on it by yourself. I have never heard of a girl who taught herself how to take the interior of a car completely apart, and then put it back together again with no help or instruction manual. It just impresses me that you have done it, Courtney, but not because you are a girl or anything sexist like that, I just know I couldn't do it._

_I would probably hurt my fingers, or shock myself, and then curse like Gertie if I were doing it._

_I am not sure what color you're going to have your car painted, but if I were a betting man, I would say it would be some sort of blue, probably a Kandy blue. It's your car anyway, and I am on narrow enough precipices with you as it is, if not for the past few years, or this morning, for this letter certainly, and the box of things definitely._

_I could go on for hundreds of pages about more neat, wonderful, and quirky things about you that are endearing; but you're probably worried about my sanity enough as it is._

_I hope that I have shown you that at least I do care about you, despite the way I have treated you, even if you do not believe that I really do love you._

_I don't expect you to return those feelings by any stretch of the imagination, and even if you never even care enough to say hello in passing, it is okay, because after everything I have done; I don't deserve your attention._

_Here is my required, self-interested insertion of the word "but"._

_If you ever found it in your kind heart to give me a chance, Courtney, I will work so hard to prove to you that I meant everything I have said to you in this letter. I promise you that I'll spend the rest of however long you'll put up with me trying to make up for being so stupid, and not showing how much I care about you before now._

_Your albatross, Miles_

* * *

After Audra read the letter, she placed it down on the table, folded it back as neatly as it was handed to her, and dragged her hand down her face giving a breathy sigh. "Well, Honey, you either need to go talk to this boy, or see about a restraining order Monday at the courthouse, because there **_ain't_** no in between."

Courtney put her head in her hand, and spoke to the table abut the boy in question. "Miles isn't dangerous, Audra," The girl finished with a heart and voice that was not so sure if they believed what she had just said or not. "He's just a big dumb jerk."

The woman sitting across from the girl sighed and looked out into the grill area where her husband was standing with a fond smile. "Darlin', do you remember the episode from Thundercats, 'Return of the Thundercubs'?"

Courtney looked up at the cheap, white grained foam tiling of the ceiling of the break room and groaned. Any time her employer tried to help any of the teenaged kids that worked for her, and she had an important point to make, a moral or dialogue from the eighties cartoon "Thundercats" was always referred to.

Courtney had reservations because one, the woman's encyclopedic knowledge of the show put her father to shame. The second reason being, Courtney knew exactly what the woman was talking about because she was a fan of the show too, under the earlier influence of her father.

Sometimes while they were working, they quoted the lines from entire episodes, or had complex arguments about the continuity errors in the cartoon. Both of them hated the characters Snarf and his nephew Snarfer with a devoted passion too, so they had that common ground as well.

"Yes, I remember the episode." The troubled young girl answered. "That's the one where Cheetara, Tygra, and Panthro are turned into little kids again, and Mumm-Ra disguises himself as Lion-O to get Cheetara to use her sixth sense to find the Mirror of Truth, one of the treasures of Thundera."

Audra smiled, "What was it that Jaga told Lion-O when Mumm-Ra was flying away after being defeated screaming he'd get his revenge?"

Courtney recalled perfectly, "Revenge is the delight of a mean spirit."

Audra looked Courtney straight in the eye and gave the best advice she knew from experience. "I'm not saying if you decide to go talk to this boy to fling your arms around him, give him a big 'ol smooch, then run off to Vegas, and marry him, or anything like that,"

Courtney could just envision a loud, tacky neon marriage quicker than the pull of a slot machine arm, and becoming in a heartbeat, Mr. Miles Shortman's barely legal bride standing before a man dressed like Elvis.

Audra dragged the girl out of her waking nightmare with, "Just consider giving this boy a hearing out." As an afterthought, she added, "In a public place, with plenty of people around, maybe with a baseball bat in your hands." After seeing the look Courtney gave her, she ended, "If you don't want to talk to him though, that's fine too. Just don't avoid talking to him for spite, or to punish him."

Courtney knew this wasn't the end of advice, and now she was simply waiting for her boss to convince her to go talk to Miles.

The woman smiled fondly. "You know, Courtney," The girl pitifully moaned in response as she put her head in her hands while the well-meaning woman continued with a smile. "It seems to me that your young man has spent a lot of time on you, and nobody spends that kind of time on someone they dislike." Thinking a moment, Audra added, "Unless they hate you, but I think he likes you, because if he wanted to kill you, it seems he's had ample opportunity to do so, and hasn't."

Courtney cast the woman a strange look as the elder leveled with her, "From what I've heard from eyewitnesses, your beau punched that boy in the face for tripping, and making you fall down."

Courtney's eyes widened, she hadn't really thought about the finer details of the incident until then, but she saw Miles' hand reach out to her after he punched James in the face, but before he could take hers to help her up, the other boys threw Miles down, and started kicking him in the face after he hit the floor.

Courtney had been so angry with Miles; she didn't even bother to think about why he had started the fight with one of his friends, and why he had said he was foolish for befriending them in the first place.

Audra rose, closed the cracked door to the small break area for more privacy, took her seat again, and then leaned forward with a whisper, "How do you think I wound up married to Wes, Honey?" She asked with her thumb pointing towards the door.

The girl answered with a wicked question, "Did he propose to you after your first kiss under a magnolia tree in full bloom with the song Moonlight Feels Right playing in the background under a starlit sky?"

The woman sighed wistfully, "Lord, I wish."

Courtney's eyebrows went up as the woman forcefully continued while pointing at the closed door, "I swear to you, Courtney, God as my witness I hated his guts when we were kids, and I couldn't stand him!" Courtney backed up with the outburst, and then looked confused at the statement, "Don't worry, Sugar, he knows." The girl wasn't allowed to interject a question because the woman picked up before she had a chance to. "Wes used to tease me something awful, and when I was little, I used to pray to God to let him fall down a flight of steps so he'd break both his legs so he couldn't bother me at the bus stop, or go to school!"

Courtney's eyes got wide, and she started to think of excuses to leave the room without seeming rude as the frank woman continued her outlandish but true story.

The most gifted, and creative writer in the world couldn't make a story like that up.

"Then when the usual changes occurred with adolescence, and a few growth spurts," Audra pointed in behind herself towards the door with her thumb, "Smart Guy outside wanted to be my very best friend, but by then I wouldn't give him the time of day." She flung her hand up, "Oh, sure, he tried to be nice to me then, and make up for what all he did when we were younger, but I wouldn't let him." The woman sighed at her own immaturity in shame. "He wouldn't stop hounding me for dates until I threw a dictionary at his head our junior year in high school." She demonstrated size in respect to her hands. "I don't mean any little paperback version either; I was mad as hell at Wes, and chucked that big ass heavy hardbound American Heritage edition at him off the porch."

Courtney was flabbergasted, "Did he leave you alone after that?"

The woman nodded, "Yeah, he did, even though I missed him." Courtney had to chuckle as Audra continued her less than ideal fairy tale, "When I graduated high school I thought I had seen the last of him, but the first year of college at Charlotte who did my brother drag to the apartment to live for a couple of days that turned into a whole lot longer but Westley?"

Courtney's eyes cut towards the woman. "I would have killed your brother!"

Audra nodded, "I wanted to, believe me! As time went on, and it was obvious mister man wasn't looking for anywhere else to live, I learned to get along with him for the sake of my brother after a period of adjustment out of necessity. Wes paid his part of the rent on time, and he never tried to borrow my underwear or shave his legs with my razor, so I was eventually okay with him living with us, and we became friends."

The woman smiled at Courtney's expression, "One night, a good while after that, Wes and I were washing the dishes my brother was supposed to have, but instead let pile up to the ceiling almost. We were finishing when 'It's a Shame' by the Spinners started playing on the oldies station out of Greensboro."

Audra thought of the unlikely love of her life fondly. "Westley didn't look at me when he said it, but he told me that he wished he had been nicer to me when we were kids."

Courtney asked, "Why did he say that out of the blue?"

Audra answered, "He said because maybe then I would love him as much as he loved me. Then he kissed me on the cheek, and walked away." The girl looked at the woman strangely. "That was it, Courtney, I belonged to him after that." She shrugged. "Now, I just thank God he was patient and waited for me to grow up some, because there aren't many men who would have waited around for a girl who treated him the way I did." Audra added with caution, "But don't tell him I said that though, because then he'll get a big 'ol head, go to town with it, and I'll eventually be forced to kill him."

Courtney asked, "What happened after that?"

Audra answered curtly, "After a few dates, a trip to York County, South Carolina for a civil service, and a week of hiding in Williamsburg, Virginia from our parents." She patted Courtney's hand as she looked at her advisor as if she had lost her mind. "Look, 'Hon, ultimately, it's up to you, but if you don't go talk to this boy and figure out his malfunction, you could be missing out on one of the greatest things that could ever happen to you. I almost missed out on my greatest thing by holding a stupid grudge. You and that boy could be soul mates, and not even know it." Audra turned the gold wedding band on her left ring finger with her thumb so that the girl could see it well, and said with a lilt, "Stranger things have happened."

She finished with a mischievous wink, "If nothing else, Cheetara, at least go on ahead, open up that damn box, and see what's inside! You may act like you don't want to, but you know you're dying to nose around in that thing." Courtney cut the woman an evil look as she finished with, "You're a woman and can't help it." With that, Audra left the girl to her thoughts closing the door behind her.

Courtney cut her eyes at the closing door, hating that the woman was right, sighed in defeat, then pulled the tattered shoebox towards her, turning it so that the lid would open away from her.

When she did, the first thing she saw was a large picture of her breaking the tape at a race she ran before school let out in May of that year. She thought she had bought and destroyed all of them, but she seemed to have missed one.

How odd that the boy who hated her had a copy of it.

He really didn't hate her though, did he?

Then Courtney picked up the picture of her that Miles had shot that she didn't even know that he had taken. She couldn't remember where in the world she was for that one to be taken, but then it hit her.

The day of the museum trip.

She and a boy from the debate team were talking in the back of the bus so that no one could understand them, and he said that if she liked Miles so much she should just strike up a conversation with him. He said that Miles was a nice person, but still a guy, therefore an idiot, and that he just teased her to cover up how he really felt about her.

Just like his letter said.

When Courtney said she wasn't pretty enough for Miles to notice her, her friend told her she was crazy, to go take a good long look into a mirror with her glasses on, and then threatened to hit her over the head with a slab of greasy Kobe beef for being so ridiculous.

Later on the field trip, the opportunity to talk to Miles presented itself, so she was nice, smiled, and pulled her hair through her fingers as she had seen other girls do. After she did however, he called her a name, and that started the much-hated sobriquet of "Gammeldork" for her.

It wasn't long after that, all of the crush she harbored since early childhood was gone when the student body began using her as the punch line to all their jokes, and she truly began to despise the boy.

She still hated the boy too, she really honestly did.

Didn't she?

However, she had a crush on him before that, just like all the other girls at school did now, years before any of them had even set eyes on Miles.

She slapped the photo down on the table with the flat of her palm with a frustrated sigh.

Then Courtney picked the discarded hair scrunchie, a pink rubber bracelet from the 50K race she thought she had misplaced then completely lost, and two sealed bags of her favorite candy out of the box.

Was Miles insane, or did her love her really? He must at least care about her, if nothing else in a creepy way.

Nevertheless, none of that mattered, because Miles Shortman was not a good person, and he had been mean to her, but then again, didn't her own father ask her to try to forgive him a little that very day?

She was under the impression that her dad didn't like him that much, but had her father seen something in Miles that she didn't?

Surprised that Miles Shortman cared about a newspaper other than getting fried food wrapped in it, or the sports section, Courtney found the stack of stapled editorials to the paper she had written as a guest. There were also clippings about her I.Q. Bowl participation at Wellington College, and races the she had won. To the side of those was the obituary of her mother.

Just as the letter said, there was the typo the writer of it made in reference to the day in which her mother passed away.

Maybe it was true what Miles said, maybe he did care for her; after all, he had followed her around town spying on her to learn all those private things about her.

Then again, that proved nothing more that he might be both a stalker, and a mental case, but when her employer insinuated the same thing, she had defended him.

She still hated him didn't she?

However, in her heart of hearts she really couldn't bring herself to answer with a definitive yes.

"Well?" The girl asked the air around her, feeling like a complete hypocrite for talking to God after the awful mouthful she had to say about the omnipotent presence that morning.

She certainly felt foolish too, for thinking the supreme being hanged around in places like The Sugar Shack, even though the French fries were good.

"I know I haven't talked to you much lately, but I'm open to suggestions. What should I do? Give me a sign." The frustrated girl not getting a response like all the other times she had addressed the deity, slung her left arm towards herself in frustration with the doubts she had in both herself and Miles.

With speed and force, she flung her arm back in the opposite direction, and made the empty shoebox, pictures, and newspaper clippings sail across the room, and hit the wall beside her. When the box hit, pieces of something rattled out the shoebox, and came to rest on the floor.

The girl got up with a growl, and started picking up the newspaper articles. Soon enough, she stumbled across her mother's obituary. Courtney instantly felt guilty for the lack of respect for her mother that the clipping was on the floor as she bent to pick it up.

Upon closer examination, there was a tiny grey hand on the obituary, and its open palmed finger was pointing to her brother's middle name. The tiny hand was somehow familiar, but she couldn't place it, so the girl just set it on the table, and looked for more of the things that had been scattered because of her fit of self and boy directed anger.

As she gathered the photos, she found other pieces of the object that came out of the shoebox. When she stooped to gather another piece, upon closer examination, it was a little, all too familiar white and grey leg.

Determined to find all the pieces because she knew what it was, Courtney scoured the floor on her hands and knees. Miraculously, she had found every part to a tiny action figure but the head.

After a good bit of looking on the floor, she had almost given up on finding it, but she picked up the empty orange shoebox, and found that in an interior flap, the tiny head of the figure was sandwiched firmly between that and the box itself.

The representation of her father's favorite character out of the whole generation one Transformers show, Courtney sat down at her place again and started to assemble the little white, green, grey, and oddly, red figure.

It didn't take her long, because she had both experience, and the figure was extremely simple. Even though the Hasbro Heroes of Cybertron Transformers mini figure collection was well detailed for how small they were, they were also notoriously flimsy. The appendages of the figures came out all too easily, forcing annoying, but easy repairs.

As for the one she had in her hands, in the Transformers cartoon, the character didn't have any red accents on the legs but only green. Courtney reasoned that whoever owned the figure must be a real stickler for detail, and been a fan of the Hasbro toy release, because they took a bit of red paint, a brush, and customized the figure by neatly putting the red details on the legs and additional green on the cockpit of the chest.

Surely, that toy couldn't belong to Miles could it?

Courtney was looking at the figure standing crookedly on the table, and then her eye caught her mother's obituary, making an earth shattering connection.

"Wheeljack." The girl said barely above a whisper with her eyes wide, and heart pounding so loud she could hear it in her chest.

She took the tiny winged figure into her hand, and held it for a moment clutched in her fingers reflecting, and then she scooped all of the papers on the table back into the shoebox to go back to work.

It was a couple of tortuously long hours away from her next break, and every second of it was spent second-guessing everything that she had almost made up her mind to do.

* * *

Miles looked at Gertrude's outfit for the evening with a smirk. She was wearing an olive green sleeveless V-neck sweater with a white short sleeve shirt underneath, and brown thigh length khaki shorts, with white socks. Red canvas low top sneakers with white rubber soles and toes finished the ensemble.

The incorrigible boy instantly burst out into laughter and unwisely teased his sister. "Seen one too many episodes of Doug?”

Not to be outdone, the justified feeling girl extended her arm, hand, and then produced the silent single digit gesture that said it all, sticking it right in Miles' face; almost touching his nose. "This is my favorite episode, Porkchop!"

"Gertrude Roberta Shortman!" Arnold warned from the kitchen, "Do not give your brother the finger!"

The girl was shocked. "How did you know?"

Arnold sighed, and stuck his head out of the doorway. "Because you didn't use a noun as an adjective, and I know you're not going to just let something like that go by without some kind of response."

Then the disapproving father turned his attention to his overly opinionated son. "Miles Lakota Shortman, leave your sister alone, and don't provoke her! You say things like that just to get her upset so she'll crank up, and entertain you." Gertrude glared at her brother, she hadn't realized it before then, but their father was right! Miles did bait her into doing such.

The girl made a mental note not to hit Miles until he was completely healed from that morning as Arnold wondered lastly, "Also, just what is wrong with Doug? I liked Doug. It was a good show, and as a matter of fact, your mom and I used to watch it all the time when we were kids right after Yo, Ernest."

The kids snickered when Helga called from the kitchen, "While you're waltzing down memory lane, Football Head, these dishes aren't drying themselves, you know!"

Arnold rolled his eyes at his kids and said with an affected voice, "Comin', Geraldine." Arnold knew that he shouldn't, but that never really stopped him before, "I don't even know why I'm washing dishes tonight, Cecile, you paid the bill this time!"

The kids laughed when a partially wet towel sailed across the hallway, and landed on their father's oblong head, partially covering it.

Helga walked into the hallway, snatched the towel back off his face, and gave her husband an ugly look before approaching her children with two fistfuls of mixed denomination bills.

"Here." Helga said with a smile, but some urgency. "There's forty dollars apiece for both of you." Helga studied the bewildered looks on the kids' faces, but wasn't too terribly concerned about them because she had an agenda that wasn't going to be derailed for anything. Helga said with calm surprise, "Well, look at the time, Kids. You're both going to be late to work if you don't get a move on!" Miles and Gertie checked the clock on the wall in the hall, and even though they had plenty of time to get to work, both of them were literally being pushed out of the door as their pre-occupied mother reminded, "Remember, curfew is midnight, but you're both grounded starting tomorrow, so you're not allowed to have a good time after work tonight."

Helga smiled as the kids' feet touched the stoop, and completely enjoyed their confused looking faces with her next statement, "Now be careful tonight, and have a good time!" The hurried woman insinuated with a naughty grin as she looked behind herself at Arnold, "Remember, come in at midnight, okay?"

When the door shut, Arnold teased his wife, "I hope child services doesn't come here and take the kids away from us for how severely you're punishing them for today, Helga."

Helga turned to her husband, and dictated in complete deadpan, "Aren't there some non-standing in the hallway activities certain capricious, knowing young men should be attending to right now?"

Arnold turned, and almost bounded up the steps while loosening his tie, and unbuttoning his shirt.

* * *

Outside, the kids lingered on the doorstep as jazz began to play, items clattered in the sink, and then on the floor in the kitchen as Abner squealed, and Chewie yowled.

Miles wondered aloud, "What was that all about? We already knew to come in at midnight, why did mom need to tell us again?"

Gertie glanced at her brother rolling her eyes at his clueless question, and sighed forcefully. "God, do ya' have t'ask?" Miles' face was still confused looking.

Gertie said with raised eyebrows, and a knowing lilt, "Dad's been gone for a week and a half, and they've missed each other?"

Miles still looked at his sister without a clue. "How could they miss each other? They've talked on the phone for at least an hour every day since he's been gone!"

The girl forcefully exhaled at the naiveté of her brother. "Please tell me you are not that damn clueless." Miles looked at his sister with doubt. Finally, Gertie spoke with the revelation of, "Its date night, Stupid, and they wanna' be left alone until we're supposed to be home!"

The boy looked at his sister in shock, then questioned with horror, neatly wrapped in a whisper, "You mean they still," Miles uncomfortably made a twirling motion with his hands. "Do it?"

Turning to walk down the steps of the stoop, Gertrude put her hand on her face, covering her eyes and hissed through her teeth, "Jesus Christ shut up and come on!" Miles jumped at his sister's outburst, as she tugged his short-sleeved shirt making him follow her. Before he could snatch his clothing out of her grasp, the smarter girl declared with lowered eyebrows, "A lot of kids we know have parents who are divorced! Besides," The girl added with a shrug and smile, "It's kinda' sweet that they're still into each other like that."

His nose wrinkled, and Miles didn't even want to begin to think about the condition of his parents' love life. It made him uncomfortable to hear the two of them calling each other disgustingly sweet love names, the worst of which being "Doctor Love". It was even worse to catch them in some tight tangled embrace kissing while making some meal, or sitting on the couch making out under the pretense of watching television, only for his parents to ask him where he thought he came from. The mere notion of their parents as sexual beings almost made him want to throw up, and after some thought, Miles theorized, "But they're old."

Gertie slapped her forehead at her brother's lack of tact, "They are not! Mid forties isn't that old!" Then the girl added to her romantic views with a wistful voice, "I hope someday that I find someone who will be in love with me, and we can be like that."

The grimacing boy scowled. "Yeah, thanks for that imagery, Gertie."

Gertrude looked at her clueless brother up and down in disgust. "You should want that too, Dumbass."

Miles' lips turned upwards in a wicked grin, and he placed his hand over his heart, "Oh, well then, maybe you've found your one true love already, Gertie." Gertrude's face turned bright red, in both anger and embarrassment as her foolish brother quoted in a high-pitched voice while batting his eyelashes, "Kyo got it for me." Then the obviously suicidal boy added, "Where are you registered, Mrs. Johannsen?"

As Miles laughed, his vexed sister ground her teeth together red faced, and shaking, then Gertie blurted out in anger, "By golly you're so ding dang blasted stupid, Miles, I can't stand it! If I were a 'Mrs.', I would not be registered anywhere because I would already be married! If you're going to be a smart butt at least get it right, Genius!"

Reveling in finding yet another button to push, and enjoying the thrill of pissing his sister off so badly that she couldn't think straight enough to use any of her favorite words, Miles added, "So, it seems that you've spent some time thinking about it?"

Then the panting girl's face twisted with more ire, and Gertie took off the dainty white gloves she had been gently handling her brother with all day. "Don't you have some just really stupendously shitty poetry to write on the insides of cereal boxes to Courtney Gammelthorpe right now?"

Then it was Miles' turn to blush.

"I saw your latest ground breaking work, 'Pork Rind Kisses', Turd Juggler, and let me be the first to congratulate you." Gertie lowered a hand in front of the length of her brother's body. "I don't see how you can walk toting around a pair the size of yours," Gertie's eyes glistened with dark, malicious delight as she finished, "Pooh Bear."

Miles' face was deep red, and he vomited with anger, "You went in my closet didn't you?" Gertie said nothing, but her loud, cackling laugh just made her brother's ire raise more. "You did, didn't you? Just say that you did!"

Gertie confessed honestly, "I didn't mean to find your creepy boy stash, it just happened."

Miles gave his sister a look. "How do you not mean to not go into a closet, but wind up doing so anyway?" Then the irate young man almost screamed, "And I am not a creepy boy!"

Gertrude gave the boy a quick look up and down and muttered, "Whatever."

Doing nothing less than further infuriating her brother more, as the kids walked down the alley to get to the garage still arguing, they jumped backwards as a potted plant fell and broke into dozens of shards just inches in front of them. Miles and Gertie looked upwards when they heard their mother say her favorite word, "Crap!" Helga then asked in a thoughtless panic, "Are you two okay?"

Both kids gave one another a look, forgetting about their argument completely when they saw their mom standing on the fire escape. That wasn't out of the usual as their mother was the one who always had to water all the plants sitting out on it. If she didn't do it, all the decorative foliage of their home would die a slow, thirsty brown death.

Tonight was entirely different however, as their mom was strangely dressed, and if both of them didn't know any better, in the fashion of a teenager.

Helga was wearing a pair of white canvas tennis shoes, a short white skirt, a tight light pink tank top, and her hair was in a ponytail held together with a large pink bow, with no watering can in sight. The spectacle not being enough by any stretch of the imagination, their mother was also in the process of what looked like climbing into the window of Miles' room, as one leg was already poking through the house.

Helga froze like a deer in front of headlights as her son asked with a questioning lilt, "Mom?"

Completely caught out, she felt her face become heated with a blush, as Miles asked with caution, "Why are you climbing through my?"

Gertrude, knowing all the answers to the provocative questions her oblivious brother was going to ask, at least tried to help her mother out of the embarrassing situation. The blushing girl took her brother's hand and yanked him towards the garage while walking swiftly, forcing Miles to do the same, and as she did, the girl yelled without thinking, "Hope you have a good time with dad tonight!"

Her mother's mouth was agape, and as Gertrude slapped her head, Miles, who had finally caught up with the rest of the cast turned his face towards his sister, and cracked a wide, painful, wicked smile at his sister's unintended faux pas.

In a quieter voice, the scowling girl challenged her brother with her eyes to say anything else after her dire threat of, "I dare you, Miles, to say one freakin' word, just one, it's all I need."

As Helga's eyes widened, she put her hand on her head, and she couldn't even get onto Gertie for using a watered down derivation of the worst bad word of all because she was reeling.

Miles obeyed his sister in shock, and his face twisted as the truth of his room dawned on him.  
At least he now knew why sometimes when he came home on the weekends; different sheets were on his bed than when he left.

Helga watched the retreating forms of her children round the corner of the alleyway towards the garage with no signs of returning. Soon she heard the garage door rise, the car start, and heard it leaving. Grateful that at least the girl had preserved hers and Arnold's dignity by keeping her from having to answer Miles' embarrassing question with an unbelievable lie she hadn't thought of yet, Helga knew she would have to thank Gertie for it later in some way.

Gertrude was the gutter mouthed legacy of her kind, wise beyond his years father, no doubt.  
As the grateful mother pondered the irony, Helga lost balance, and tumbled through the window of her son's room unceremoniously.

As she fell, Helga knocked over books, a shelf top full of painstakingly posed Transformers, and a baseball signed by Mickey Kaline junior that rolled across the floor, almost to the other side of the room.

* * *

A curious boy stopped the rolling sphere with the raised big toe of his foot and walked across the room, looking down upon strange girl that picked on him mercilessly in interest.

As such, Arnold Shortman couldn't wait to hear the explanation of the irascible girl, who had by some strange series of events, had managed to fall into his small bedroom.

"Are you okay? You didn't get hurt did you?" The boy asked with his usual genuine care for another's welfare as he moved to help her up.

Helga looked up at Arnold with a flustered face, truly embarrassed for her less than poised appearance in his room, but as the caring boy reached down to check her for injuries, Helga pushed his arm away rudely. "I'm fine, Arnoldo." She said in irritation, with a fiercely burning blush on her face as she rolled up on her side rubbing her sore behind. The damage already done to her pride, Helga figured that she might as well forget about it, and try to enjoy the evening.

The blushing girl studied the gorgeous boy that was stooping before her with concerned eyes. When she sat up, crossed her arms, and looked away from him, he smiled knowingly, and began picking robots up off the floor, moving them and their accessories to the side so they wouldn't be stepped on.

While occupied, she couldn't help but steal glances at him, and admire what she saw. He was tall, tan, and wearing a pair of grey sweat pants with the legs cut off into shorts, and a white T-shirt with the logo of his favorite college basketball team emblazoned on it.

The shirt was a little tight, so she could see his broad, well-developed chest shine through in places. His forearms and biceps were toned and muscular too, like the strong sinewy muscles of his hard calves and thighs.

His golden hair still behaved as an entity of its own, but his head was missing the small blue hat he wore that she had taken once out of greed, only to return out of love.

The boy finally asked with an odd grin, dragging the girl out of her interested ogling, "Well, what are you doing sneaking into my room then, Miss Pataki?"

Helga grasped the strong hand that Arnold insistently extended to help her up, while looking at his bare feet to avoid eye contact. She accepted the kindness he offered, blushing at the touch of the beautiful boy.

Arnold pulling her upwards, the girl thought of excuses that would explain her presence in hiss room in vain, finally settling upon, "Um...I was just," She fumed and furiously dusted off her clothing as the boy patiently waited for an answer.

Finally, she blurted out in frustrated anger turning her back to him, "I didn't know you were here in your eclectic little dump, Football Head, because if I did I wouldn't have come!"

With the flimsy argument, Arnold stepped closer to the girl that had broken into his room. He liked the way he fixed up the place, and thought it was neat, an urban, post-industrial re-bop kind of place, a bat cave if you will; a space age bachelor pad.

"Well, why are you here then, Miss Sunshine?" The teenaged boy asked almost impatiently as the girl spun around to glare at him. As Arnold studied his unexpected visitor in interest, he reasoned that Helga G. Pataki might be an annoying blowhard at times, but there was no denying she was an attractive young lady too.

Excuse him, hot.

The girl was extremely hot.

The achingly tight skirt and top she wore clung snugly to her delicious body, and allowed him to see the all the dangerous curves that weren't there when she was nine, but then again, he wasn't standing in front of a pig tailed little girl anymore, but an almost fully-grown woman.

Helga's face turned red as she noticed Arnold studying her body like food for someone who was starving, and hadn't eaten in awhile. "I was just going to ask you to help me find something, o-on the internet."

Arnold crossed his arms and asked incredulously, "The internet, Helga?"

Helga's voice got haughty. "Yes, Hair Boy, the internet."

The girl looked at the computer on his desk, as the boy smiled wickedly with half lidded eyes. "Well, your computer's not on, so I'll just show myself out." The girl said with an abashed grin, pointing behind herself with her thumb, as she hurriedly made her way back to the window she fell through moments earlier.

Arnold followed the girl to the window, gently grabbing her around the waist from behind, and pulling her close to his well-muscled body.

Something was definitely up, she felt.

It had to have been, for him to act in this fashion.

The boy whispered gently in a deep voice that had changed not too long ago, "What's the hurry, Pataki?"

His hot breath caressed the nape of her exposed neck and made her tremble. His reckless hands circled around her full hips, and up towards the upper section of her waist. Before he could pull her backwards into him, the surprised girl spun in place, and backed away while facing the boy as he and she approached the window-bearing wall. Haughtily, Helga answered with her usual, but endearing roughness, "I don't know what you mean, Paste for Brains."

Arnold gave the girl a knowing smile, and reached out to touch some stray stands of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. "I just thought that, well, seeing that you've gone to so much trouble to drop in tonight," Helga cut her dark eyes at the boy as he continued, "Maybe we could hang out and talk or something."

The girl walked backwards in retreat from her secret crush as he continued the pursuit, but eventually, Helga's back met the wall and she could go no farther. To her further surprise, the clever boy placed his palms to either side of her on the wall so she couldn't evade him either, imprisoned by his muscular shoulders and forearms.

The girl's heart was pounding, and her black pupils were wide. Having nowhere to retreat, she was forced to gaze into Arnold's dazzling, hypnotic green eyes, as the scent of his fragrant shampoo; and wonderful cologne wafted into her nostrils. "I need to get home, I," The boy's grin widened as she panicked. "I have to go do my homework." Helga pushed on the boy's arms, but they were held fast on the wall by his weight, and strength, so she had no hope of budging them. She tried to duck under his well-muscled arms, but then Arnold simply lowered them, and laughed at her failing attempts at escape.

After she gave up trying to escape, she crossed her arms as the boy shook his head in disbelief. "Oh, Helga, come off it." The girl's eyes squinted, as control of what she termed to be her game was taken away from her. She was the stalker, the clever one, the cat with nine lives, and now her deepest secret was in dire threat of being revealed again, damn it!

The boy, contrary to what she wanted, was able to recount every one of the excuses for her presence in his room given. "First you didn't know I was here. Then you needed me to look up something for you on the internet. Now you need to go do your homework, which you probably can't do without getting me to help you look up something on the internet; which is a moot point since you didn't know I was here, but since you didn't know I was here, you wouldn't have tumbled through my window to begin with."

The girl's eyes suddenly found the floor extremely interesting when caught in her faulty lies, and then she found her voice. "Well, listen to you, Professor Shortman," Looking upwards at the boy who had enslaved her in every definition of the word, Helga defiantly questioned, "Are we finished with our dissertation yet?"

Caught, the young woman fumed while the boy had another laugh at her expense. Then the irritated girl jerked back in absolute shock as the forward boy planted his nose gently on her neck and stroked it gently towards her jaw line. With a deep masculine tenor, he asked, "You smell nice. What is that?"

The ensnared girl's body shuddered at his hot breathed compliment, and losing all her capability to be angry with him for the moment, the girl caught off guard simply stared at him. The boy knowledgably queried, "Samsara?"

The girl nodded with a blush. "I-It's Olga's. I like to sneak into her room to get a spray of it every once and awhile." She chuckled nervously. "It makes me feel like I'm getting away with something."

Unable to stop him, Arnold trailed his nose down her neck and back again inhaling deeply, the cool air drawn over her skin from Arnold's inhaling breaths made her hair stand on end. "I do have to say that your lovely sister always had exceptional taste, Miss Pataki," The girl's eyebrows slanted downwards, and she was about to say something ugly when the boy finished his sentence, "Her perfume smells best on you though, Helga." Seductively, Arnold added, "I'm flattered that you chose me to enjoy it on you tonight, rather than someone else."

Shocked at the compliment that insinuated a bit more, and exhilarated with her closeness to the boy she had coveted in one way or another for years; she began to shiver. "Chose you to e-enjoy me?" The girl stuttered in shock, as the forward boy gathered her long ponytail from behind her shoulders, and began tickling his nose with the end of it, inhaling deeply. He traced her jaw line with the blonde locks before releasing them to study her remarkable cleavage.

"Now," The boy said in candor taking advantage of the shocked silence Helga was in as he traced a warm fingertip down her bottom lip to her chin, gently lifting it so her gaze would meet his.  
"Why don't you just come out with what everyone knows, and get it over with?"

Helga looked at Arnold up and down in uneasy anger as she tensed as if she were a spring wound too tightly. "Come out with what?" She exhaled in fear mingled with fire.

The boy moved closer to the girl, almost touching noses with her, making sure there was no way she could possibly escape before he could ask his question, "You've always kind of had a thing for me, haven't you?"

True to form, the stubborn girl denied everything, "Don't flatter yourself, Football Head!" Helga crossed her arms in consternation and she looked away from Arnold with contempt as his half-lidded eyes studied her intensely. "I've had plenty of offers for dates with boys at school!"

Arnold gently traced the soft skin on her crossed arms with the warm fingertips that were on her lips a moment before; and the naughty boy watched the renewed red blush crawl over Helga's face and neck again with prurient interest. Observing his success in the form of goose bumps that were rising over all the places that his infatuated fingers tickled on the girl before him, Arnold wondered what else Helga would let him get away with.

The boy lowered his soft lips to her reddened ear, his hot breath dancing across it as he whispered softly, "But you never go with any of them, Helga. You're the most sought after, prettiest girl in school, and yet you always have plans, or some kind of other flimsy excuse to not go out with anyone." The boy rubbed his smooth chin against Helga's soft warm cheek, whispering in her other ear with his continuing argument, "Right now, instead of breaking hearts you could be on a date with Wolfgang, Ludwig, Torvald, Park, or..."

It was a massive digression, but Arnold simply could not resist, "Arnie?"

Arnold's lips moved upwards with a mischievous grin, and he almost laughed when Helga said with a serious, flat, extremely un-amused voice, "That's sick, Arnold."

"My point, Helga," Arnold argued, bringing her back to the conversation at hand with his fingertips tracing her naked forearm up and down, looking down into her gorgeous blue eyes,  
"Is that if you could have so many dates, and you continue to insist as you have for years that you aren't too particularly fond of me," The girl looked away from the boy shyly. "Then why are you sneaking into my room?"

The bashful girl, even though blessed with the perfect opportunity, was still unable to tell Arnold about her secret, obsessive love for him, and blurted out with her heart pounding, "I have to go!" as she made a desperate gamble for freedom to no avail.

The boy grabbed Helga's hands, stretched her arms out to her sides and laced his fingers in hers, finally moving them forcefully downwards. The surprised girl then gasped as Arnold Shortman, the morally upright neighborhood goody two shoes; who always did the right thing, and acted like a gentleman no matter what, pressed his hot body against hers, fully entrapping her against the wall.

If she wanted to get away from him, she would have to hurt him.

Did she really want to do that though?

The boy exhaled a quiet sigh of contentment as he allowed more of his weight to push into her, but he then said with a stern voice, "Well, you can't leave, Helga." Adamantly he promised, "In fact, I won't allow you to leave." Grimly he ended, "Until we settle some things between us, your ass is mine for the moment."

The girl's eyes widened at the new Arnold that crushed into her now, pinning her to the wall deliciously. In the past he would just say, 'whatever you say, Helga.' and let her leave, but not this time though.

Now Arnold was insistent, dominant, in charge, possessive of her even, and Helga liked it.  
"Settle things?" The girl said anxiously, tantalized by the boy's closeness, but not entirely comfortable with the way the conversation, and his physical contact was heading.

Her mind panicked, but her body knew exactly what to do, which further unnerved the aroused girl.

"You know, Helga," The badly behaved young man theorized, "I think that you don't go out with other boys at school, because you already like one boy in particular." He asked in knowing curiosity, "You're holding out for him to notice what he's foolishly missing out on aren't you?"

The girl's eyes widened as she desperately looked at the window behind her. The boy pressed his advantage and pulled her face down to make her look at him again. "I think he's a very fortunate fellow if that's the case, Miss Pataki."

Helga's face turned even redder if that were possible as Arnold leveled with her, "I'm not even going to go into everything, because frankly, I'm tired of the games we've been playing for years, I'm ready for a new one." The girl's eyes widened at all the memories that flooded her mind, but all ability to think faded when Arnold made his next statement. "You like me like me don't you, Helga Geraldine Pataki?"

She would have denied it, but before Helga had a chance to concoct another bad lie, Arnold's kissing lips, accentuated with a tongue dragging down her neck in agonizingly pleasurable increments left her unable to respond. As the girl's heart pounded, and her breathing became heavier with both the sensation of his lips on her skin, and the truth of what he said; the boy wrapped his arms around her, making interesting gestures of peace with his roaming hands.

She allowed him to with no protest.

Arnold raised his head from the interesting soft skin of her neck, and pressed his hungry lips onto Helga's, and when she parted her sticky ones, the boy happily accepted her invitation, and deepened their innocent kiss.

Arnold pulled away from Helga for the most fleeting of moments, broke character, and asked incredulously, "Is that butterscotch?"

The girl smiled to one side, "Mmmhmm, but you're my favorite flavor, Bucko."

To the boy's complete, but happy surprise, the girl pulled him even closer to her with her hand on the small of his back as she kissed him again, rolling her wet salty, sugar buttered tongue over his with passion.

When the kiss was finished, the devilish boy declared with certainty, "I think with your reaction, that's a 'yes' on the liking me thing, no?"

She knew better than to let Arnold do so, but Helga made a concession, and allowed his hands to roam from their polite position on the small of her back, to her round bottom. "Helga," The boy asked with shuddered breath as she eagerly touched him, "Do you love me?"

The lovesick girl could not resist her football headed love god any longer. "What do you think, Arnoldo?"

She had worshiped him in one form or another by proxy in front of various assortments of makeshift shrines in her closet at home for years.

However, she was in church with the deity himself now, his voice was the choir; and her name the hymn he sung.

How often did that happen?

For some unknown reason, the good girl popped out of the girl from nowhere and she asked, "Should we be doing this?"

As the naughty boy began to nudge the lovely girl towards his bed, filling his roaming hands with whatever he could, rifling under or removing clothing where necessary, Arnold declared with certainty, "It feels right to me, Helga."

The sound of her name being pronounced by his deep voice, clearly underlined with desire for her, and realizing how badly Arnold could still make her want him, nearly sent the girl to the edge of ecstasy right there in front of him.

Her eyes widened as he dimmed the lights of the room with his remote control, turned on some music, and pulled her down to sit on his bed.

The vindicated boy gathered the girl in his arms as she asked in apprehension, "What if we're caught? We'd get into big trouble."

The boy smiled to one side as he continued his gentle ministrations, mumbling a response into her soft shoulder, "I locked the door."

Before they did anything else, the girl had to ask, "I really like you, but I have to know, do you like me too?"

The clever boy replied, "Oui, ma chere, Cecile, Je t'aime beaucoup."

The girl traced her finger down his chest, tickling his rippling abdomen with her fingertips. She smiled and became determined to make Arnold laugh, because now her lover was looking much too serious. "I've never done this with a boy before."

Arnold laughed aloud, "Well," He answered with a smile, "Neither have I."

All clothing nearly shed, Helga had once again clearly taken the dominant position in the game.

The mischievous boy observed as he tugged Helga's golden locks from her bow, allowing her soft hair to fall through his fingers, and cascade down to her shoulders. "I like your bow," Arnold added slyly as she gripped his shoulders, and then forcefully pushed him backwards onto the bed while kissing his lips gently. "It's pink," The man mumbled as he studied her, and raised an eyebrow, "Like your panties."

Helga giggled, and then the couple melted into each other's arms.

Between soft kisses, and gentle caresses, Arnold asked half-serious half jokingly, "Do you think you can get your hands on a Campfire Lass sash?"

Helga pushed his roaming hands away as she pointed towards the couch mounted in the wall and asked with annoyance, "Have you ever actually been in there, Arnold?" Before he could answer, Helga informed, "It's absolutely filthy!" She said resolutely, "My crawl space days are over!"

Knowing he should stop while he was ahead, the badly behaved man queried, "How would you feel about having a parrot around the house?"

After being rewarded with a sharp tug of his golden locks, the impotent threat of, 'I want a divorce', and a half-hearted attempted to leave the bed, but Arnold grabbed his wife, and held her down by positioning himself on top of her to assure Helga's inability to escape.

Before the exchange could become too interesting the doorbell rung.

Arnold growled and regretfully pulled his lips from Helga's. "Every damn time without fail!"

The woman pulled his face towards hers, and softly cajoled with her light fingertips, "It's not the kids, they're at work. Besides, we said midnight, and they'll run with that and come in at the last possible second tonight that they can get away with, especially since their grounding starts tomorrow."

Arnold said, "But it might be,"

Helga cut him off with a playful kiss on the nose, and a soft whisper. "Just ignore it."

The two waited for a moment, and when the doorbell didn't ring again, the amorous couple became engrossed in one another once more.

"You're a very good actress, Helga." Arnold said with a purr.

Helga smirked, "Fourth understudy for Juliet, remember?"

The man smiled and asked, "Now, where were we?"

The clever woman said with a seductive voice, and pleased grin as she moved her husband's eager hands to their prior full positions, "I do believe right about here, Football Head."

The man growled into her neck, biting it gently, "God, I love it when you call me that!"

As the vixen raked her fingernails gently down Arnold's back, Helga whispered, "You didn't used to." A playful nibble on his earlobe sending him over the edge, Arnold was about to retort in a special way all his own when the doorbell rang again, and soon there were audible knocks at the door itself.

The man put his forehead on his wife's collarbone in frustration as she rolled her eyes and dragged her hands through her hair.

Helga conceded defeat and reached down to the floor for her clothes. "Dammit!" The woman said in ire, "It better not be Kyo, some religious nut, or a freakin' Campfire Lass, that's all I have to say!"

Arnold swatted Helga's bottom as he rose to let her dress. "I hope it is a freakin' Campfire Lass, because then you can buy her sash from her."

The woman shook her head and announced, "You're not right, Arnold." As he pulled on the cutoff pair of shorts again and nothing else, Arnold walked towards the steps leading downstairs, and Helga asked, "You're not wearing just that to the door are you?

The questioning man looked down at himself. "Well, yeah, why?"

Helga studied him with a raised eyebrow, and tossed a shirt at his head as the doorbell rang again. "Because it doesn't leave much to the imagination."

Arnold looked at his wife incredulously as she pulled her hair into a ponytail, and declared in irritation as the bell rang again, "Let's get down there before the damn doorbell gets worn out."

* * *

After dropping Gertie and a gallon of mayonnaise off at her heavenly, shockingly normal job full of cartoons, action movies, comic books, and throngs of adoring fans that treated her like a mythological Amazon goddess, masochistically, Miles voluntarily drove himself to all the circles of Hell combined.

When he got there he was still fifteen minutes too early, so he sat in the car as long as he could get away with before having to walk through the doors and start his shift.

Miles looked at his reflection in the glass door of his place of work, and groaned in displeasure as he watched his reflection don the last part of his dreaded uniform. He was not a clothes horse by any stretch of the imagination, but he despised the god-awful color combination of the puke orange, dirty yellow baseball cap, and the ugly matching shirt that went along with the job.

There was just one thing that Miles hated more about work than the required uniform, but he hadn't seen him yet, and odds were that fortune was not going to favor him much longer seeing the day that he had already enjoyed so far.

There were some benefits to working there, but at that moment Miles was hard pressed to think of any as he shielded his eyes from the orange red hues of the setting sun. As Miles did, he looked up at a giant, plywood chicken nailed to the roof of the building painted with pigeon droppings, as a speaker imbedded in the center of it barked the company's annoying corporate catchphrase, looped on a monotone recording.

"Cluck cluck, _pancakes_. Cluck, _cluck_ , pancakes and halibut."

Unable to hold it off any longer, the damned boy walked inside the Cathedral of Grease, and awaiting Miles in rapt displeasure was the Pope of Pancakes and Halibut, His Royal Assholiness, Mr. Harkadian.

The vertically challenged man reminded Miles of Gimli, the dwarf in the Lord of the Rings trilogy, but without any of the charm, humor, goodness, or other redeeming qualities. He and Miles enjoyed an extremely special relationship in that they loved to hate one another, and as they sized one another up while the moment stretched out before them, the affection between employee and employer was especially heavy in the air that evening.

The little man in both stature and thought bellowed through the dining area despite the fact that there were actually people eating there for a change, "You're late, Shortman!" Miles checked the clock, and he was inside the establishment at seven o'clock, right on time as he was supposed to be.

After seeing his face, The balding troll gripped what was left of his hair. " And what in the hell happened to you? You look like shit!" The squat man irately asked as people eating pushed their plates away, and he dragged Miles through the restaurant dining area by his sleeve to the grill area. As soon as the boy's flat sneakers touched the well-greased tiles behind the counter area, they felt unsteady, and as if his feet would slide out from underneath him at any moment.

The man forcefully exclaimed as he clenched an un-lit cigar stump in his teeth so hard that a juice comprised of nicotine and his saliva poured out of it. "You can't work register looking like that!" He flung his arms upwards, revealing the dampness of his armpits. "Customers don't want to buy food from ugly people! " As Miles examined his very unattractive boss, and the irony of his statement, Mr. Harkadian expounded, "Pancakes and halibut drowned in boysenberry syrup is a hard enough sell as it is! You're gonna' make people puke!"

Indescribable how wonderful it made him feel, Miles knew that he had to be special for Mr. Harkadian to care so much about his well being. Weighing his need for money, against having to stay in that hell hole until it closed when he could be at a barbecue with friends, Miles asked with hope and a smile he knew wouldn't work to his benefit, "Does that mean you want me to go home for the evening, Sir?"

The tiny man scoffed, "Don't get any ideas, Smart Guy, I'm already two people short tonight!" Rubbing his hand over his greasy, thinning hair, Mr. Harkadian explained, "Lorraine found out she's pregnant again, and John won't be back from his operation until Wednesday next week." Shaking his head, the manager thoughtfully informed, "Don't forget to call him Joanne when you see him." Miles' eyes bulged as Mr. Harkadian cautioned, "Remember to keep your hormones in check too, as well as your damn hands to yourself while you're at it!"

Behind the counter, Miles' friend Stinki was supposed to be busy frying fish for non-existent customers, but instead she was laughing silently, and helplessly behind their boss' back at Miles while pointing at him as he in turn recoiled at the very thought of hitting on the new and improved Joanne. Soon, the squat man finished his thoughts on the matter. "I don't need no sex harassment lawsuits!"

As Miles processed the disturbing news about his never boring co-workers, and how no human alive could possibly sexually harass Lorraine, even if they tried, Mr. Harkadian looked at Miles up and down in disgust while pointing behind himself with his thumb. "Petersen is on fryer tonight, and we need you here just in case there's a rush."

With that, the boy's heart sank.

The first reason was that Miles absolutely didn't want to be there, and the second reason being that his presence at work truly was for nothing, because the winter Olympics would be hosted in Hell before Hillwood City suddenly got a craving for the horrendous garbage that place churned out.

In the words of his sister, starving zombie seagulls would not eat that shit.

Miles told everyone who would listen that he thought that Mr. Chicken's House of Pancakes and Halibut was in truth a secret government installation. The craptastic food served there and the ugly building were meant to drive onlookers away, and serve as a cover for strategic missile silos, or something even more sinister, like a biological weapons lab.

Soon enough, Miles' imagination was torn away from national security, and subversive spy master plots, and his eyes lit in genuine horror when the ugly man announced, "The rest of you is okay, Giles, we just have to hide that head of yours."

The boy corrected, "My name is Miles, Sir."

"Whatever." Mr. Harkadian pushed Miles backwards away from him, and opened the storage closet. When he did, a thumb sized cockroach scrambled away on the slick floor, barely able to find traction as the stench of cleaning supplies that were almost never used, mold, and a disgusting odor worse than his mom's goulash was wafting out of it.

Then the tiny man stamped on the roach until he thought it was dead enough, and then ripped down an article of clothing from a bent hanger that made the Miles' barf orange, piss yellow shirt and cap look like a three-piece suit and tie.

"Put this on, Kid, and be quick about it." The short man requested with a malicious grin.

Miles tried not to make a face as he reluctantly reached out to grasp the garishly yellow-feathered outfit. Then Mr. Harkadian turned again, bent over, rummaged around in the closet, and threw two extremely large, orange-colored, three-toed slip on foam feet at him from the bottom of the closet over his shoulder.

Bending down to take them into his hands to scrutinize, if Miles weren't mistaken, the foam feet looked as if pieces of the toes had been chewed off by some sort of vermin larger than the stain of cockroach that was on the floor at his feet. Feeling by weight that one of the foam shoes was heavier than the other, Miles lightly shook it, and a huge dead mummified rat tumbled out of the foot hole onto the slick floor, breaking its black, dry rotted tail off in the process.

As the hateful man kicked the mummified rodent away with his foot, making the bits slide under a fryer like a disintegrating hockey puck, the irascible man stepped closer to the disgusted boy and warned, "You didn't see anything, got it?" The nasty man ended with a nonchalant tone while poking Miles with his index finger in the chest. "Health inspector's coming Monday, what he doesn't know, won't fire you."

Miles was too disgusted to answer the threat of sweet freedom as the tiny man clenched the soaking wet cigar butt in between his teeth tighter, and as more brown liquid bubbled in between the ugly man's yellow teeth, he barked, "Now put that on, and get out front pronto! I'm not paying six and a half an hour for you to stand around doing nothing, Kid!"

The man slapped the boy on the back hard as he said with perverted glee, while moving his middle and index fingers like a ballerina's legs and feet En Pointe in front of Miles' face. "Try to dance around, and attract some attention." The man forced a handful of green slips into his hand that looked like dollar bills but had a cartoon caricature of a smiling chicken and halibut where the photo of a president would be. Some of them fell out of Miles' hand spilling onto the floor, and as the boy bent over to pick them up, the pressure from the blood in his face made it throb in pain while the unsympathetic manager continued, "If people come in, give them a dollar off coupon, but just one per person, you got that?"

The boy sighed. "Yes, Sir." As Harkadian tromped away to make someone working in the back miserable, Miles unconsciously dragged the legs of ugly yellow feathered suit behind him on the greasy floor to the changing room.

The man turned and screamed at Miles, "Don't drag that suit! I just had it cleaned a couple'a years ago!"

Miles made a half hearted effort to pick the suit up off the floor while grumbling in his head while wishing he were somewhere better, like Antarctica. He was at least grateful that there was a mask attached to the costume so no one would know who he was, as he danced around outside humorlessly, waving to people as they passed in their cars.

A few minutes passed, and sooner than he liked, Miles was dressed in the glaring yellow outfit, stinky mask, and chewed up orange shoes of Mr. Chickens mascot, but before going outside, he walked over to his friend from school, and asked, "Usual agreement?"

Stinki Peterson nodded and said dryly, "No kidding, Shortman!" She assured wholeheartedly as she looked at him up and down, "I wouldn't tell _Jesus_ you were parading around in that suit if he asked!"

The boy said a heartfelt, "Thanks, I owe you one!"

Stinki shrugged, "Hey, you did it for me when Joey Jackson came in last week."

Miles gave Stinki two rolled up eyes as she yanked up another basket of greasy fish to drain, and after a drink of Yahoo to steel his nerves, Miles walked into the dining area towards the door wearing the day glow yellow feathered chicken suit, pulling down the mask as he went.

The head covering had a gigantic flaccid comb that dangled in his face partially blocking the eyeholes making it hard to see. Added to that, customers in the dining area were already beginning to snicker at his low status in the hierarchy of Mr. Chicken's House of Pancakes and Halibut, which was a real ego booster too.

As he passed by a sticky looking table that the flies found particularly tasty, some mean little kid that could be the poster child for birth control yanked a handful of feathers out of the costume, and threw them towards his face laughing, but aerodynamics and lack of heft prevented the short plumes from going any further than his midsection.

Miles ignored the rotten little bastard, and walked outside resigned to make a bigger fool of himself than usual, because evidentially they didn't get enough laughs up there.

* * *

The anxious visitor stood at the front door of the Shortman house, and rang the doorbell again while checking her watch. Courtney's dinner break would be over in twenty minutes, and she had to get back to work soon. She thought that surely, there was someone home, because there was music playing, and the kitchen window was open. In it, there was a brown, longhaired cat licking its paw and dragging it down its ears and the side of its face, and then the feline stretched, yawned and artfully leapt down onto the stoop.

"Oh, you're a Hemingway cat." Courtney said in greeting to the extra-toed cat as it sniffed the girl's slender hand before she petted the animal. "Well, aren't you a pretty little kitty? Yes you are." The cat purred and leaned into Courtney's fingers as she made a scratching motion behind its ear, making the tags on its collar rattle. Curiously, Courtney fingered the metal discs, and pulled them upwards slightly so that she could read them. "Your name is Chewie, huh?" The girl nodded to herself, "Short for Chewbacca I presume?"

After couple more minutes of petting the cat, but not getting an answer from either the cat or the door, Courtney sighed, figuring that the music was on to give the illusion of someone being home. She had wanted to get this apology business out of the way with as much dignity as she felt the situation would allow, but it looked like it was not going to happen that evening. With disappointment married with relief that no one was there, the young woman was beginning to convince herself this endeavor was stupid, but as Courtney began to walk down the steps towards her car to leave the front door opened.

"Courtney, what a surprise!" Arnold greeted with a friendly tone, "What brings you here?"

Courtney turned and walked back up the steps asking cautiously, "Hello, Mr. Shortman." Catching sight of Miles' mother, she addressed her especially politely, seeing as she had hit her son that morning, and didn't know if she'd hit her for it or not. "Mrs. Shortman. I hope I'm not bothering you, but I was wondering if Miles would allow me to speak to him for a moment." The girl said with an abashed look away, "After I embarrassed him this morning, I wouldn't blame him if he didn't want to see me ever again, but I'd like to apologize to Miles, and thank him for returning my pullover this afternoon; it means a lot to me." The girl added nervously, "Since I'm here with you, I should apologize to you as well for my behavior towards your son."

Arnold smiled, "Miles isn't home now, but would you like to come in for a moment?"

The girl was surprised when Helga took her hand gently, and led her inside before she gave her a chance to answer, and before Courtney knew it, she was sitting in the Shortman's kitchen drinking a cold bottle of Yahoo soda. It took a few moments to get used to it, but Courtney thought something in the kitchen smelled kind of off, but it wasn't that bad though, and it would have been rude to ask what it was.

After an explanation of the events that lead her to their house that evening to that moment, Courtney finished. "Anyway, I just wanted to tell you what Gertie did, Miles too." Courtney added with shame, "I am also extremely sorry to both of you for hitting Miles this morning, and yelling those terrible things at him. I doubt either of you appreciate it, and no matter how upset I was, I still didn't have a right to act like that."

Helga gave the girl a gentle look and said, "This is between you and Miles, you have no need to apologize to us, dear."

Arnold nodded and patted the girl's hand. "Actually, I applaud the considerable patience you've shown our son through the years." He smiled as Courtney blushed, and Helga scratched something out on one of her business cards, partially hiding it with her palm as Arnold asked his wife a leading question. "When is Miles' shift at Mr. Chicken's House of Pancakes and Halibut on Gilmore Street ending, Helga?"

Helga didn't roll her eyes, but her husband's attempt at being sneaking with vital information was painfully obvious. "His shift is over at nine." The woman answered dryly while looking to the side.  
Courtney checked her watch and said, "Well, thank you both for everything, I don't mean to be impolite and just rush off like this, but I really need to get back to work. I only have a few minutes left on my dinner break, and if I want to keep my job I better get rolling." The girl looked to her side, grabbed her purse, and rose to leave.

Arnold and Helga got up to escort her out, but without warning, the caring woman grabbed the young girl, and wrapped her arms around Courtney when Arnold left the kitchen. While Courtney was ensnared in Helga's embrace, to her surprise, the doctor assured, "You know if there's anything you or your dad need, that we're here for you don't you?"

Courtney smiled and said, "Thank you, that's very nice of you."

Helga presented the girl with the business card she had written on sandwiched between her index and middle fingers. "This is a card for Dr. Bliss' office." She paused for a moment, choosing her words carefully, "If you ever need to talk to someone about things, this is a wonderful place to start."

Courtney took the business card and said, "Thank you, I don't know what to say. You and Mr. Shortman have always been so nice to me." The girl flipped the card in her fingers, saw Helga's writing, and looked up at the woman in surprise.

Helga patted the girl's shoulder in a comforting manner and said with a wink, "You never have to worry about thanking us for that, dear." The two walked out onto the stoop, "Tell your dad we said hello, okay?"

Courtney responded with a blush as they exited the front door, "I will."

Helga added in an impressed manner when she saw the primer grey car parked in front of their house, "Hey, nice car, Kid! Is that an L-48 or L-82 sitting under the hood?"

Courtney returned, "Thanks, and it's just a plain old 350 small block. I'm having it painted a Kandy blue as soon as I get my interior done."

Arnold added, "Well it looks nice so far, Kiddo."

The girl smiled, got into the car, started it, rolled down the passenger side window, and said alternately to Arnold and Helga, "Thanks for everything and the Yahoo too."

Both adults raised a hand to the car as it rolled away, and after it was well down the street in the distance and Arnold gave Helga a look. "What did you write on that business card?"

Helga smiled and said, "Miles' cell phone number."

Arnold declared with rolled eyes, "Wow. That was smooth, pimp mama."

The smirking woman retaliated with a perfect impersonation of her husband, "What time is Miles' shift over at Mr. Chicken's on Gilmore Street, Helga?"

Arnold crossed his arms, "Well, I thought it was very helpful."

Not wanting to argue, and having more interesting things she wanted to get accomplished that evening, Helga eyed her husband, "Whatever. Tag!" Helga slapped her husband on the arm hard. "You're it, Football Head!"

Arnold's wrinkle faced response was, "OW! That hurt!"

As Arnold continued to rub his shoulder, Helga laughed at his pain and declared while running up the steps, "Suck it up, you whiny ass baby!" After bounding into the house, Helga slammed the door behind her, and locked her husband out. Still rubbing his aching shoulder, Arnold ran up the stoop to the front door, shook it hard, fruitlessly pounded on it a couple of times with his fist, and then yelled at Helga through the kitchen window. "Open this door!" As she stuck her tongue out at him, Arnold threatened, "You're gonna' get it, Lady!"

When Helga pushed her hand past the kitchen curtains and summoned him with her crooked index finger, Arnold ran down the alley, and up the stairs of the fire escape to take his well-deserved revenge.

It had been almost thirty minutes since he had been standing outside, and it was nowhere near time for Miles' break.

All he had thought about while he was jittering around looking stupid was how much more he hated his job than usual, and if Courtney had bothered to read his letter.

Either way it was a living hell pondering both.

As Miles thought, he seethed with anger as he halfheartedly danced around while moving his arms and legs up and down like a loon in front of the store as his boss had commanded him to do.

He just knew that the short little toad was enjoying his humiliation too.

Added to the embarrassing fact that he was forced to wear the thing, the chicken suit was also incredibly uncomfortable. It rode up in places, sticking tightly in places where feathers certainly should not be, not even on a real live chicken, and it was almost unbearably hot both outside and inside the suit too. Even though it was almost officially fall, the temperature was still reaching into the mid eighties, and had done so again that evening.

Miserable on so many levels, Miles could feel the sweat already rolling down his face, and being absorbed into the already stinking mask he wore on his head, but he was a little grateful for it at least, because it concealed his identity.

While the unfortunate boy tried in vain to attract attention from the street, as if the bright yellow suit were not more than capable of the endeavor, his fellow man made his job so much easier.  
Miles enjoyed waving at happy, friendly, innocent little children, but two adults had yelled the word "loser" at him from the front and back seats of someone else's car in the past hour.

Compounding that, a couple of people threw trash from their cars at him, including an empty glass Yahoo bottle that shattered on the sidewalk beside him barely missing his leg, but the crowning touch was when some banal idiot with nothing better to do with his time showed him his intelligence quotient with a mere flick of a finger.

Miles could tolerate all of the abuses in stride, but as he pulled the badly reeking chicken mask away from his face while still wearing it, he wondered why in God's name did it have to smell like corn chips and dirty, vinegar soaked socks?

As the unhappy boy examined his place in the universe, and how bad it sucked, he heard a familiar rumble, and it sounded just like the one that came from his mom's car in high gear, because the resonance was unmistakable.

Miles thought that surely his mother wasn't coming there to eat; he warned her and anyone else who would listen that the place teetered on a constant B and C rating. Miles wouldn't even feed a starving dog anything out of Mr. Chicken's, because it would be an act of animal cruelty.

As it stood now, going fifty in a thirty-five, Courtney only had five minutes to get back to work.  
Even though the route she was taking took her past Mr. Chicken's, and she had sort of kind of made up her mind to stop and ask to speak to Miles for a moment, she couldn't because Miles might get in trouble, and now had doubts that she'd even make it back to her own job in time.

When the car neared, Miles' heart skipped a beat, and then he felt his face get warmer when he saw that a primer grey Corvette was thundering towards him at a ridiculous clip.

The knowing boy had his suspicions, but they were confirmed when he recognized who was driving.

It was her.

In a sublime panic, melded with pleasure in seeing her, Miles audibly prayed to whatever deity would listen, "Oh, please, please, please, dear God, don't let her stop, and come in here, and see me in this stupid freakin' chicken suit. I'll do anything you want, please just don't let her see me like this."

Courtney, still flying, looked to her side, and for a split second, her eyes met the eyes of some poor soul standing on the sidewalk, dressed in a greasy looking chicken suit, peering back at her through the holes of a mask.

Feeling pity for the wearer, Courtney couldn't help but wonder what sort of bad karma he was paying back that merited him standing outside in eighty five degree temperatures in that God awful, tacky hot garb.

Miles exhaled a hot breath of great relief as the grey blur faded into the distance, but jumped when he heard tapping at the window behind him in the distance. When the suffering boy turned, he found Mr. Harkadian's butt ugly mug staring back at him with his stubby, crooked index finger pointing at his feet. "Yes, Satan, I obey." Miles said to himself as he turned around, and grudgingly began to dance around like a trained monkey again, desperately counting the minutes until his break.

As she drove, the girl who made Hamlet look decisive slapped herself on the forehead, and asked why in the hell was she so worried about the Shortman situation, or even bothering to do anything about it at all.

Shouldn't Miles be looking for her?" Courtney then countered herself with guilt, "Hadn't he though?"

Then Courtney thought about Wheeljack's hand pointing in the break room of the Sugar Shack, what her father had said, and what her crazy employer in a long way home manner thought about it too.

It was all coincidence though, and besides, none of this stuff with Miles made a bit of sense.

It didn't matter anyway, she decided, because she shouldn't care, and she wouldn't either!  
If it were not for that damn letter, Courtney argued as she lightly slapped the top of her steering wheel.

She growled at the swirling thoughts in her head about looking for Miles while simultaneously deciding to forget about it. Then the confused girl grabbed up the business card she had stuck in her rusty ashtray with Miles' cell phone number on the back of it, then looking back up at the road.

While studying it, trying desperately to get her thoughts together on the matter, beginning to lean dangerously towards not calling at all, Courtney turned on the radio while stopped at a red light.

Just in time to hear the end of a commercial, Courtney stared at it when she heard, "For extra miles, use Red Flame gasoline, the official fuel of," The girl pushed another button to the radio, this time it was a familiar, upbeat sounding song with melancholy lyrics on the oldies station she listened to. "Where this road will lead to, no one can say, we'll count the miles," Annoyed, Courtney pressed another pre-programmed station in time to hear a song from the seventies, that just happened to have been used in of her favorite movies of all time.

" _Now that I've put it all together, give me the chance to make you see._

_Have you used up all the love in your heart?_

_Nothing left for me?_

_Ain't there nothing left for me?_

_Baby come back_!"

As Courtney pushed the off button to the wireless before she heard something else that reminded her of the boy that both infuriated and intrigued her, she asked her car in frustration, "Are you trying to tell me something too, Tracks?"

While sitting at the overlong stoplight, the car's over-fueling motor slowed, and then began to die. Shifting the transmission into neutral, and giving the accelerator a couple of quick taps to make the engine idle higher, Courtney said with irritation, "Alright, dangit, I'll call him already! Knock it off!"

Miraculously, as the car began to run right for the first time since she bought the thing, Courtney gripped the unsightly beige, cracked leather covered steering wheel of the car in her hands wondering if she were going crazy.

The people beside her in traffic who had been watching her certainly thought she was, and as she looked to her side, Courtney forcefully asked a family of four in a heavily oxidized red station wagon who were staring at her, "What?" When greeted with nothing more than silence, Courtney turned back to watch the light, then quickly sped away when the light turned green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Arnold was created by Craig Bartlett, and all related indicia are registered trademarks of Viacom Inc. No infringement is implied nor inferred.
> 
> The song "We Got Tomorrow" featured in the Hey, Arnold episode "Road Trip" was written by Craig Bartlett, Steve Viksten, and performed by Kate Miner. It is the property of Viacom Inc. and no infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The Nickelodeon cartoon "Doug", and the characters Porkchop and Doug Funnie were created by Jim Jenkins. All are registered trademarks of Viacom Inc, and later on Disney had a finger in it too.
> 
> Thundercats was created by Ted Wolf and the characters Mumm-Ra, Cheetara, Tygra, Panthro, Snarf and Snarfer belong to Time Warner Inc. No infringement on their properties is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> The Thundercats episode "Return of the Thundercubs" was written by J. Larry Carroll and owned by Time-Warner Inc. No infringement is implied or inferred.
> 
> The character Batman belongs to DC Comics/Time Warner Inc. No infringement is implied or inferred.
> 
> Transformers belong to Hasbro Inc. as does the "Heroes of Cybertron" mini figure collection and the character names Tracks and Wheeljack under license of Takara/Tomy Ltd. of Japan. No infringement on either company is implied or inferred.
> 
> The character Gimli was created by J.R.R. Tolkein, as part of the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy. No infringement is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The name Corvette belongs to General Motors Corporation, No infringement on their property is implied nor inferred.
> 
> The song "Moonlight Feels Right" was written by Bruce Blackman, and performed by the group Starbuck. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred. Three minutes and thirty-four seconds of pure pop perfection. 
> 
> The song "Baby Come Back" was written by John Charles Crowley, Peter Beckett, and performed by the group "Player". No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The perfume "Samsara" belongs to Guerlain located in Paris, France.
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from the song "Sweetest Taboo" composed by H.F. Adu, and performed by Sade.
> 
> Also, can you tell I absolutely love cars yet?


	8. Grazin' In the Grass

In between licking the sweet icing of Arnold's black forest cake off of her fingers, Helga wondered, "Have you ever noticed that we will do things in Miles' bed that we won't in our own?"

In the growing darkness, Arnold craned his head towards his wife with a funny look as he pinched off another bite of mangled cake and pushed it into his mouth. "I don't want to sleep rolling around with crumbs in our bed, do you?" Before she could answer, the clever man held a stemmed cherry just below his wife's lips. "Best for last." First he traced them with the cold, sweet object as she licked, and tried to grab it with her teeth, only for it to be pulled away at the last second.

Helga growled as she grabbed his hand playfully. "Will you please stop teasing me?"

Knowing his wife's deep, dark secret, Arnold tickled her side until she was forced to release his arm. "I still can't believe that the all powerful Helga G. Pataki is ticklish."

His wife corrected with a good-humored push, "Shortman! I'm your problem now, remember?"

Rising to get a kiss for payment, Arnold held a bright red cherry just above her mouth, and then asked slyly, "Do you want this?"

The woman growled, and then pulled his hand towards her moist red lips demanding, "Give it to me!"

"Ah, ah, ah," Arnold said suggestively, "You know what you have to do first."

Helga kissed his lips once more, allowing them to linger a little longer than usual and then the mischievous man finally relented and popped the red stemmed fruit into her hungry mouth. "You sell out for so little."

The woman laughed loudly. "I didn't used to be so easy, Football Head, you should be more grateful."

Chewing her juicy, hard earned reward, Helga placed her head back down on her husband's warm chest. "I assume that call this afternoon was from your agent. When does your promotional tour start?"

Twining their legs together, Arnold replied, "They won't decide until the first edition is fully printed, but it'll be some time in the summer of next year for sure. Jason is supposed to get back to me when it does so that we can square things away with the legal department, plan signings at bookstores, book talk show appearances, and other public relations duties."

Helga sighed as she rubbed his stomach. "I know it's a way off, but I still dread it."

Arnold kissed Helga's forehead, gently caressing her naked shoulder. "I know, I do too, but I won't be away for long, and I have to do it, it's in my contract."

Helga nestled her head back into the crook of Arnold's shoulder, but much closer, "I know you have to go, it's just that the kids miss you so much when you have to leave on business and they worry about you."

Arnold turned to face her worried eyes. "What about you, Sweetheart?"

Helga smiled sideways, tenderly brushed away the hair on his forehead, and declared lovingly, "Three guesses, Stupid."

Arnold's gaze softened and after kissing her sweet lips once again, he observed, "I worry more about how all of you are while I'm gone." Then he added with hope, "I might be able to get the publisher to hold off my tour until summer, and if I can, I want you to go with me, Pop Tart." With a clever smirk, he related, "I'm quite sure that my adoring fans would love to meet the real life wellspring of never ending torment that inspired this book."

Helga's eyes cut upwards towards her wary husband who seemed to be expecting light but well earned physical punishment, but to his surprise, Helga's eyes brightened, then abruptly fell. "I'd love to go with you, but it can't work because we always go to the beach house with Phoebes, 'Ger, and Kyo in June, and that uses my two vacation weeks. I really want to make sure we all to go together next year because the kids will be turning eighteen and it'll be the last time we will all be there when they are still, well, kids." Sighing, and resigning herself not to go on the trip even though she wanted to, Helga rationalized, "Besides, I can't just leave 'Liz with my patients like I did today either, it's unfair, she needs her vacation time too." With concern Helga also noted, "Her mother's health isn't getting any better and she may have an emergency that she'll need to go take care of for an unknown period of time." Helga added, "Even if I could go, I'd still have to get 'Gert and Miles ready for college, and we can't simply leave them here alone with the house can we?" Helga's voice trailed off.

Arnold shrugged, "I'm sure that you and Elizabeth could work something out, you're both not as busy in the summer when school isn't in session and we have several months to plan and see if we could do this." He thought, and then made a compromise. "I'll talk with Jason and see what I can do, we're not completely in the planning stages yet, but I bet I could hold off the trip to accommodate you." Brightly Arnold added, "If you're worried about Miles and Gertie, even our kids couldn't accomplish the task of completely demolishing the house." When Helga gave Arnold a look, he offered other conjecture. "It will do them both a world of good to be here by themselves to take care of the house, plants, and pets. Phoebe and Gerald could check in on them if needed, and I think it will be a nice way for them to get used to not having us around to bail them out of trouble all of the time, just like being grown up."

Helga gave her husband a look. "We've been playing house for over twenty years and I still don't feel grown up."

Arnold grinned widely. "Well, as close as they can get to being grown up then." Then his face turned sober. "I still can't wrap my mind around the fact that Grasshopper and the Big Guy will be in college this time next year."

Helga nuzzled closer to her sweet mate, and sighed. "It seems like only yesterday we were bringing them home for the first time and as soon as we've turned around they're going away." Helga said with a hint of loneliness, "The house will be so empty and quiet." Hating to do so, the wistful mother also made an admission. "We've both invested a lot of time breaking them up, but I'll miss their little piss fights." Arnold gave Helga a strange look. "They make Slam Jam look like croquet and its entertainment that you can't buy a ticket for." When she saw the look her husband gave her, Helga innocently asked with a small shrug. "What?"

The only thing he could offer was verification on the observation he made earlier in the afternoon. "My God you're a sick woman, Helga Shortman." Then Arnold rolled his green eyes. "Anyway, you're worrying needlessly about missing the kids at college, because I'm more than sure that you'll have to referee several arguments over trivial things on the telephone at some point." Soberly he ended, "Trust me."

The knowing man grinned as his voice trailed off. "You know, if things get bad enough to where you get really lonesome for profanity being screamed around here, I guess I could yell using Miles' name in vain, slam the kids' bedroom doors shut, and work the word ass in between every other word for ya'."

Helga shook her head with a small laugh. "It just wouldn't be the same."

Arnold chuckled wickedly, held his wife a little tighter, and kissed her forehead. "You know, if our empty nest would be so terribly lonesome for you, we could always try for another couple of kids."

With that, Helga and Arnold both burst out into insane laughter together at the prospect of something so ludicrous at this stage in their lives together.

As they settled, Arnold's nose brushed against Helga's sweet smelling hair, inhaling as deeply as could be allowed while he loosened his grip on her shoulders allowing her to move her head lower to rest on his torso. Arnold comforted, "Well, look at it this way, at least they'll both be home for holidays, also breaks, and you haven't even pondered the positive possibilities for the kids' departure."

Helga nuzzled his chest, and placed her hand over his heart, her warm fingers feeling every light thump in his throat. "Such as?"

Arnold made note, "Well, we can sleep in late on the weekends."

Helga scoffed, "Like you'd ever let anything like that happen."

He forwarded, "We can go back to Paris, and try again."

"Skip on down." Helga dryly retorted with more than a hint of disappointment as she remembered the hellish fiasco that their honeymoon was. Nothing went according to plans on it, and the cursed excursion could have easily been valid grounds for divorce between less secure couples.

Arnold stroked the side of his wife's hip and whispered into her ear seductively, "We won't have to worry about sneaking around to get up here for playtime as much."

Helga rose on one elbow, and gave him a sideways smile while smoothing back the wild blonde hair threatening to enter his eyes with her smooth palm. "I like the sneaking around, Football Head, it's part of the thrill!" She ended with a peck on his lips.

"You still hungry?" Arnold asked toying with the ends of Helga's soft locks twisted in his fingertips.

Helga looked upwards, smiled, and then lightly pinched Arnold's stomach. "You just want an excuse to go get, and eat most of yet another slice of cake."

Arnold looked at her incredulously. "How did you know?"

She rose on one elbow staring down into his gorgeous green eyes shaking her head, "Because I know you, Bucko."

Arnold rose, stretched, and as he pulled the cut off sweat pant shorts he borrowed from his son's wardrobe up onto his hips, he said as he turned and winked. "I am so glad that you do know me, Bucko."

Listening to the sugar whore gallop down the steps in what sounded more like a controlled fall, Helga turned in bed to lie on her back while tugging the sheets a little higher up on her body, and then placed her arm behind her head. As she relaxed, she gazed up through the skylight past the slight glint of light from the hallway below that reflecting off it. The last of sunset was waning, and since the bedroom was dark, she could see the hint of a star, despite the glaring lights of the modern city that tended to drown most of the ancient heavens from human sight.

She was so happy where she was now and couldn't possibly imagine life without Arnold or her wonderful children; but Helga never thought she would ever wind up being the wife of Arnold Shortman despite her fanciful childhood imaginations of such.

Then again, life seldom unfolds the way any of us plan.

Helga tried not to let it, but her mind wandered off, and as usual, it settled on the past.

If things happened the way she expected and wanted back then, everything would have been so different now.

Where would she be, and what would she be doing?

What would _their_ children have been like?

She felt guilty for pondering what never had a chance to be because in a way, she felt it betrayed her husband, but to forget would be a disgrace too, and Helga couldn't bring herself to do it.

* * *

It was spring, she had just turned eighteen, and Helga was so in love with him that she didn't know what to do.

Horses bathed in moonlight nickered behind them tied to the low hanging branch of a tree as they browsed the tender green grass that sprouted from the latest spring showers with their soft, warm, velvety lips. There was a feast for the couple's senses smell in the sweet cool air of night which mingled with that of earth, grass, horses, and each other as they lie tangled together in the bright, chilled moonlit night as newborn lovers.

It was their first time alone together under the stars like this, and her first time with someone like this. If she had known how good it felt to finally let go and truly become a part of the man who owned her heart and soul; she would have long before now.

She would have rather died than exist in this mortal plain without this man, but of course there were always inconvenient potholes deeply set in the in the road on Helga Geraldine Pataki's highway of love.

"You should know by now that you don't need to worry about my parents liking you." Humorously, Helga related, "Miriam's liked you from day one and Willie's pretty much quit threatening to kill you every time you come over." Helga added, "All Jess and Cody have ever done is talk about how cool you are, so you're safe now because you have everyone snowed."

She had meant to ease his apprehension with lighthearted jest, but when Billy frowned, Helga did too. Why he had chosen this very moment to be so insecure was completely beyond her, especially after what had just transpired. Billy opened his mouth to interject, but Helga was determined to quash his insecurities and refused to allow him to get a word in edgewise. "It's not like it would matter in the first place anyway, because all that matters is what I think of you."

With a justified huff, Helga made her feelings clear so that there would be no misunderstandings in William's mind. "As you well know, I honestly don't give two shits about what anybody says about me or us being together, Bill."

Helga assured Billy with great irritation as she stretched out over the rough, horse hair ticked blankets and under the woolly white sheepskin that comprised their roughly made bed, "That snooty bunch from society hill running their mouths isn't any big surprise, but I can't believe some of your friends have said about us being together." Reasonably, Helga added, "I know that what happened to the Indian peoples by the hands of white men was beyond unjust, but I can't help any of that." The flummoxed girl flung a hand up and explained beautifully, "The Pataki family was probably in Hungary treating each other like crap when the abuses of your people were taking place, so we didn't have anything to do with it!"

After a chuckle at Helga's theories about genealogical social functionality married with her studies on psychology, Billy had to say realistically, "I know, I don't like it either, but we can't control what they say and people are always going to find a way to express their opinions regardless of whether you want to hear them or not." He said with a truthful air, "You're going to find ignorance no matter where you go. You're white, so it's easier for some people to label, and blame a color than to deal with an individual person."

Helga eyed Billy with suspicion and then said in a manner not unlike her father, the late Big Bob Pataki, "That's deep, Bill, you're makin' me think." She paused, and was barely able to keep a straight face as she added, "I don't like it." Billy laughed as his lover muttered bitterly, "If nothing else, our relationship has taught me that the good 'ol racism door swings both ways, Kemosabe."  
Helga kissed Billy's cheek, "When I say that though, I don't lump your family in with them, they've been nothing but good to me."

"I know." The boy she adored held her closer, mumbling into the sweet smelling hair on the top of her head. "I feel the same way about your family too, but I still don't like it when Martin calls you my squaw though."

Helga dismissed her boyfriend's brother for his benign trespass. "Awww, Marty's just teasing, he's only doing what older siblings are supposed to do, which is annoy the living hell right out of you." She then offered an example brightly. "Take Olga for example." Helga then settled down, and draped her arm across Billy's chest. "It's those other ignorant ass people and their unwanted comments that I could do without."

Thinking of something Helga said a few moments before, Billy burst out with insane laughter and Helga wondered, "I don't like the sound of that, what?"

Billy chortled, "I was just thinking."

Helga guffawed. "I knew I smelled somethin' a'burnin'."

Billy scowled at his girlfriend's appraisal of his intelligence, and now determined to irritate her in return, the clever boy continued. "You know, Ms. Pataki, Two Shits' would be a great Indian name!" Billy folded his hands behind his head and shrugged, "I'll tell grandpa that's what your new name should be when you become Sicangu Oyate, Helga Two Shits."

Dryly, Helga stated, "You are so not right, Billy!" Then despite her attempts at remaining straight faced, she started laughing too. Smiling wickedly, she curled her long seductive leg over his, and pointed her index finger into his chest. "At least our detractors can't call me your nickname in the halls of Roosevelt High like they do you, Mr. William Deer with Horns."

Billy then playfully grabbed his girlfriend's hand, kissed it, and gave his own clever retort. "They would if they knew the naughty girl that I met tonight, Miss Pataki!"

"Hey!" The girl justifiably punished him with a hard punch in the ribs with her tough knuckles. "It takes two to tango, Bucko, and don't act like you didn't want it!" Helga said with a naughty tone as she tenderly rubbed the sore spot on his chest with her warm, gentle fingers.

Billy buried his face in her neck and snorted as a bison might, in turn, Helga laughed loudly while attempting to push him away. Using a heavy, extremely bad imitation of a Native American accent, Billy commented, "Are we on warpath, Two Shits? We make heap good medicine tonight, and then you go upset the great spirits once more." The boy laughed as she cut her fiery blue eyes at him. "I'll guess I'll just have to learn to live; and get along with you, 'Ol Betsy, and the Five Avengers now."

Helga mildly threatened, "You'll do well to remember that in the future, Dances With Doo Doo."

  
Billy held Helga's arms fast before he declared, "I still like the name I came up with for you, though."

  
As Helga playfully struggled against his light grip, she threatened, "Call me it again, I dare you!"

  
Unable to resist, Billy wondered, "Or else what?"

"Or else I'll go find that rattlesnake we blundered into today and let it bite you square on your sweet little ass!" The girl warned as the boy laughed, and she placed yet another kiss on his lips.

  
"I have a sweet little ass?" Billy asked with surprise.

"Oh, yeah!" Helga answered slyly with a light, playful slap on the area of interest. "It's a nice 'un."

Billy kissed her temple. "You screamed like a little girly girl when that tiny garter snake was in the bushes when we first met, but I still can't believe you weren't afraid of that rattler."

Helga looked at the boy in surprise. "I was!" She held up her thumb and index fingers in a wide comparison of size above their heads. "That damn thing had a head the size of a cathead biscuit, but wigging out, and jumping around would have made it strike, and you were the person closest to it." The girl dismissed, "Besides, the snake quit rattling, uncoiled, and went away after it saw we weren't going to bother it."

Helga added with a grudge carried over from stumbling into one of their holes and breaking her leg a couple of years ago, "Anyway, 'rattlers eat prairie dogs like popcorn, and I hate freakin' prairie dogs! They're the filthy, disgusting overgrown cousins of city rats!" Helga scoffed, "I wish rattlesnakes had wings so that they could fly, and then they could gobble up pigeons too."

  
Billy smiled. "I'm glad you didn't kill it."

Helga laced her fingers in his, "The rattlesnake is chief of its tribe and your grandfather would have been extremely displeased with us if we killed it."

"He's crazy nuts about you, Pataki." Billy said with a smile. "You're the first white person he's ever taught to speak Lakota, and you listen to his stories like they're new, even if you've heard them before."

"I like his stories, and love him too, your whole family, Bill," Helga said with heartfelt affection. "It's the first time I've ever had anything like this before in my life and I have you to thank for that."

Billy remarked, "Sometimes I think they all like you better than me!"

Helga lightheartedly observed as she looked away sighing wistfully, "I can see that."

"Booger!" After playfully pushing Helga, the smitten boy fumbled around in his discarded pants pocket to pick out the second most interesting thing they found that day while on their last adventurous ramble through the land around the Rosebud Sioux Reservation.

It was a spear point grey in color, but when they washed the black Dakotan earth away with water from his canteen, the grey stone was marbled with a mineral bluish in color. After some additional scrubbing, they found that interlaced in the chert was quartz, and that a tiny, clear crystal geode pocket was inside.

Billy handed the ancient stone implement to the love of his life with a promise. "I know you said I should keep it because I found it, but I'm going to make a necklace out of it for you, so don't argue." The boy dipped his head downwards, and kissed his beloved Helga. "It'll give you luck this summer during the Olympic trials, not that you need it, I know you're going to make it."  
Helga took the ancient point, and turned it in the moonlight, the small crystals inside glinted and sparkled with a brightness that imitated the stars hanging above their heads. It sounded cheesier than any romantic line delivered in the history of either cinema or literature, but Helga truly meant it when she said, "I can do anything with you behind me." Glad to have been given it, she said modestly, "I know better than to argue with you, Bill, so thank you ahead of time."

  
Actually, Helga wanted him to offer the point to her again, but she didn't wish to be rude or greedy earlier in the day. The thoughtful girl abhorred out and out selfishness, but old habits were hard to break, so true to form, she always wanted tangible bits and pieces of the men she loved as souvenirs and now was no exception.

Helga's eyes drifted away from the boy that owned her heart now, to think upon the one who once did. Billy smiled at the fond, faraway expression on her face, and cuddled his lover closer. "Arnold?"

Not even bothering to deny it, Helga blushed, then blustered, "I-I'm sorry, Bill, I,"

Billy shushed her with complete understanding and a gentle finger stroking her chin. "Don't be."

Then he added genuinely, "It doesn't bother me at all, I don't expect you not to think of him from time to time, he was a big part of your life even though he didn't really know it." The boy continued cautiously. "Actually, I can't believe that you didn't bind, gag, toss him into the back of your Haul Away trailer, and then drag him with you from Hillwood as much as you told me you loved him." The boy said wickedly, "It wouldn't be that surprising a thing for you to do after you did all that other crazy crap for, to, and centered on him."

Actually finding some humor in being caught out; Helga looked upwards and had to agree. "Yeah, I know. I really did think about kidnapping him, but I don't think that would have worked out so hot." Billy laughed as Helga expressed with shame, still feeling like a coward despite all the years that had passed, "I do regret not telling Arnold goodbye when we left, but I've always had trouble with expressing my feelings though, especially properly."

Billy said with a sarcastic, incredulous tone, "Oh, noooooooo, Helga, not you!"

Helga eyed her handsome boyfriend with an evil look and then sighed while toying with his black hair, tenderly brushing some errant stands out of his eyes. "You know that I love you more than anyone else in the world, but sometimes I just wonder where he is, or what he's doing."  
Billy wondered with no jealousy or malice in his voice for the boy whom his girlfriend was once so enthralled. "Do you still love him?"

Helga retorted immediately, "I love you, Bill!" With her eyebrows turned downwards, "You know that!"

Choosing not to delve any further, Billy wondered, "What did you ever do with that little gold locket you showed me?"

Helga shrugged. "I couldn't bring myself to just throw it away, so I buried it behind the barn at home." Then she eyed Billy with suspicion. "Why do you ask now?"

Billy smiled sideways. "I'm just making sure I don't have any competition for your love, Miss Pataki." Then the gifted charmer admitted, "To tell you the truth, I kinda' feel sorry for your poor little football headed love god."

The girl looked at her sweetheart incredulously and took the bait. "Why is that, Tatanka Manure?"

The boy cracked a gigantic smile and gripped his lover tighter. "Because, Arnold Shortman doesn't have the slightest clue about what he's missed out on." He whispered slyly into her neck as he gently kissed it, "He can't ever have you back either because you're my girl now."

Helga popped up from Billy's arms, grateful he didn't give her another excuse to lightly chastise him again to reward him with a long kiss. "You better believe it, Bucko." She traced his chin with her finger while gazing down into his deep brown eyes lovingly. "Heart and soul."

The boy smiled even wider as he stroked his hand down her side, then hip, "So you're not kidding around about what we've been talking about?" Still surprised that he had convinced her to agree to such a crazy idea so easily, Billy had to ask again, just to make sure he wasn't dreaming. "You're really gonna' keep your promise?"

With earth shattering certainty that nothing in this world could possibly interfere with their best laid devices, Helga said resolutely, "I promised you that we'd get married right after graduation, and I meant it." With that, the two gazed at each other, and Helga melted into Billy's arms once more with a contented sigh.

Changing the subject, Billy remarked, "I can't believe we've got to go back to Sioux Falls tomorrow," Adding with regret, "I still don't have enough money to buy you an engagement ring yet, but I'm almost there." Not able to hold off from telling her any longer and knowing if she found out from a secondary source it would only make Helga angrier; wisely, Billy braced himself for a mighty tirade. "Just so you'll know, I'm taking a second job in Brandon starting this week, it'll be a pain in the ass, but the money's really good. I'll work on the weekends, and it's not that far away."

Helga growled, "Are you nuts? You are gonna' kill yourself, Bill!" His training nearly complete, Billy winced at his future spouse's irritation with him and began thinking of ways to make amends with little success. "School and two jobs? I don't need or want an engagement ring, I keep telling you!" Then she said with more ire, "Just when am I supposed to get to see you?"

Trying to get the focus off of him in the argument, Billy struck back with a corresponding point. "You're a fine one to talk about killing yourself, Pataki, college courses, training runs, and making top times in heats while in school; with a job of your own? I don't get to see you as much as I'd like to either."

Instead of taking Billy's bait into the digression of a larger argument, the smarter woman looked down into his eyes and couldn't have been more sincere when she begged truthfully, "Bill, please don't do this to buy me a ring, you are all I need."

Helga knew peace, happiness, contentment, and security in his arms, that was more than enough and she didn't need an expensive token from him to prove it. In retrospect, Helga felt that she should have told him that instead of what she did. "If you're so worried about tangible tokens of love, I'll have the necklace, silly boy."

Billy smiled. "I know, but I want you to have something more," Billy searched for the correct word, "traditional that represents how much I love you." Billy noticed Helga's expression of worry worsen on the side of anger, and he added hastily, "I'm not just doing this for a ring either, I need this extra money for college and, because well, you know." Billy looked away from her in needless shame and knowing the financial situation his family was in, Helga didn't pry so as to spare his feelings.

"I love you so much, Bill, I'd do anything for you." William looked away from her, but Helga rose on an elbow, and lightly cupped his cheek with her hand, bringing his complete attention back to her. "Anything. Don't you realize that?" Helga nestled back into his arms in worry for his welfare hoping he'd recognize the genuine offer of financial help without actually coming out and offering it to spare his pride.

"I know you do, and you do too much for me and my family as it is." Billy said with a kiss on her forehead as worry furrowed his brow. In turn, Helga sighed and nestled closer to Billy, not knowing what to say in the midnight silence.

He said it was for his relations and school, but as time progressed, Helga knew that Billy worked like a dog not only to help feed his family, but also to earn money for a damned engagement ring that she didn't want or need just so he could prove something to people who didn't matter.

  
The irony was that even though he had eventually earned enough money to buy a ring, Billy never got a chance to.

When Bill was killed in a motorcycle wreck on the way home from his late night job caused by a worthless drunk, the spear point necklace was the only material thing Helga had that Billy gave her.

The day of his funeral, Helga sat in the evening darkness of her room alone and swore on the necklace he made her that she would never love another man again as long as she lived.  
No one else except for Billy's grandfather knew of their plans to elope when they graduated, and after Bill's death, there was no need to divulge it.

For Helga, there were no self indulgent tears, no outward mourning, and no goddamned weakness either.

She was a Pataki and Pataki's were strong.

They kept their hurts to themselves.

The only allowance she made for herself in Billy's passing was staying home a week from school, and the main reason Helga did that was to keep people from asking her dumbass questions she didn't want to answer, or endure their well meaning attempts to help her with "her grief". After getting a gutful of that useless shit at home, when she finally returned to school, friends, family, and extra curricular activities slowly fell by the wayside as she wrapped herself up in her studies, work, training runs, and track competitions.

The only person she would talk about Billy to at all was Eyes in Clouds Rising, his grandfather, and all too soon, even that outlet was spent when her departures from home got longer in duration while she was taking her college courses and out competing for medals.

Helga was kidding herself on the last one, because she didn't care about competition anymore and her athletic endeavors served no purpose other than to help her run, literally, from facing her loss.

When she eventually became famous, Helga was woefully unprepared for just what that entailed.  
Complete strangers came out of the woodwork to either ask for money or invade her private life, and in the beginning, fame was a mere inconvenience, but as time wore on, and she gained more notoriety, Helga had come to hate almost every single second of the spotlight.

After working so hard to get the success she thought she wanted, as it turned out, Helga found she was completely miserable. Privately, she wanted out, but that was an afterthought as she had virtually signed away her life via contracts. Added to the legally binding agreements she made, she also had many people depending on her success too. Helga felt she owed so much to the people that helped her get to where she was, so she sucked it up and kept up appearances for their sakes.

  
Helga did relish the tiny bit of good her celebrity could do for Billy's people and charities, but for the most part, she felt like a jackass while smiling falsely for photos, waved half-heartedly for parades and personal appearances, and grinned absentmindedly for cereal boxes and the covers of vacuous magazines that she wouldn't read, much less subscribe to, even if her life depended on it.

Helga drew the line at a stupid doll in her likeness, but she still prostituted herself nearly non-stop hawking hamburgers, sneakers, soda, sports cars, and just about any other consumer goods her agent could wheedle a promotional contract out of for her to sign.

The result of such, Helga was a multi millionaire before the age of twenty-two, but instead of enjoying the fruits of her hard work like anyone else might, she struggled with the feeling of a growing emptiness inside. As such, Helga spent more than a few sleepless nights wondering who she was, if she lost her way, even worse, if she had, could she find her way back.

Despite her unhappiness, and the promise to never love again, there was even better news as Helga found herself dating a rock star she knew from her childhood, after him, a string of handsome but banal movie stars, and lastly, Alan Redman, a billionaire media mogul and sports photographer who offered to buy her the world if she would simply call herself his.

When none of those romantic relationships turned serious, despite the fact that they did end amicably enough, cheap tabloids still relished accusing her of being a heartbreaker, a gold digger, and other foul things that were not so. Helga would be a liar if she said the indictments did not hurt, but the truth of the matter was that Brian, Alan, or any of the others could be the man that Billy was, so it was all too easy to keep her promise on his spear point.

As far as the simple reminder of her loss of him went, it suffered benign abuse during hundreds of practice runs.

It survived some low life in Rio de Janeiro who tried to snatch it off her neck while she was competing for the second time in the Olympics.

Her necklace endured hundreds of people pushing her in crowds, one temporary confiscation during an airport security check, and sheer boredom with its removal for study during boring classes. Each careless occasion a perfect opportunity for the necklace to be lost and never seen again but by the quirks of mercy or fate Helga was able to keep her hands on it.

When she moved back to Hillwood City to continue her college education though, the one time that she had taken the necklace off for the evening was because she didn't want to lose it, and yet again, the irony was too painful to ponder.

Before the flames spread to the floor her apartment was located on, Helga was able to fight her way past the firemen holding her back and race upstairs to save her cat, Jett, but that was it.  
Afterwards, no one believed her when she said it, but Helga truly didn't give a damn about her lost furniture, her clothes, or even the four stupid gold medals and the stinking bronze one that the hot flames melted into an ugly, misshapen lump.

Helga could say with her hand on any stack of religious material one might offer that she would give anything to have gotten that exquisite spear point tied by an inexpensive leather shoelace back when it happened.

Not a simple piece of jewelry, the spear point was a comfort and served as a reminder of the good memories she had of Billy. Added to that, the necklace reminded Helga where was headed during the darker days, when her self doubts nearly overpowered her and all she wanted at times was to join him in the spirit world via her own devices.

Through his last gift to her, Billy reminded her to keep going, giving her a tangible reminder of why she couldn't ever yield to the bad things that happened because then she'd miss out on all the good.

Helga owed him so much, grateful for the time they did have together and all that he taught her, yet she couldn't even thank him for it.

Then after the fire, she didn't even have that to remember him by, and when it was gone, Helga had nothing left of him.

It was as if Billy had died once again.

Though she did not put it together in her mind over the years that she had religiously worn it, when it was destroyed, Helga realized that the necklace was the physical representation of her grief over the loss of Billy. When it was gone, for first time since he died, Helga finally permitted herself to grieve for his loss.

A strange twist of fortune, how providential it was that she did it wrapped tightly in Arnold Shortman's strong, comforting arms as she wept.

With time, the man that she was so terrified to say goodbye to when he was a twelve-year-old boy had become a good friend, and not long after, they were nearly inseparable. Helga had been alone for so long that she didn't appreciate how much she needed companionship, or recognize just how much she missed it until Arnold came back into her life.

They enjoyed happiness, shared old mutual friends once more, and it was so wonderful having someone to be so close to again.

Thank goodness it was him.

More time passed, and Helga Pataki flatly refused to fall in love with Arnold Shortman again, stubbornly fighting both her instincts and the dire urgings of her aching heart every inch of the way tooth and nail.

Eventually, the stress of their wordless denials reached the breaking point, a forgone conclusion; she and Arnold had a terrible fight which evolved into an airing of the truth of their shared feelings for one another. In the process, Arnold helped her understand that Billy wouldn't have wanted her to be alone or give up a chance to be happy, no more than she would have wanted him to.

Arnold told Helga that she had a lot to offer and that she should share herself with someone, confessing wholeheartedly that he wanted first consideration if she would have him.  
So when it came down to it, Arnold Shortman, unlike all of the other men who tried to claim her heart, had all too easily managed to knock all of her protective walls down; and made her break her word to Billy never love another man again.

Thank God.

A few months later, when Billy's grandfather died, she took Arnold with her to South Dakota to meet her family, pay respect to her old friend; and his wonderful family as well.

Helga was so afraid that Billy's family would think less of her for being with someone that was not their son and brother. To Helga's surprise and relief however, they all welcomed her as a daughter and sister that had been away for too long a time from home with open arms, and seemed to like the man she had chosen to give love another try with.

Even though many years had passed since then and she was happily married to Arnold now, Helga would always keep a warm place deep in her heart for Billy.

It was only proper, for no matter what, she would always love him.

With that, Helga hurriedly swiped a tear away from her eye with the back of her hand when she heard Arnold coming back up the steps.

* * *

"Oh you're getting heavy, JJ!" Gerald said with a smile as he hoisted his five year old nephew up onto his shoulders for a ride. "Pretty soon you'll be giving me piggy back rides!"

Phoebe doted on the little boy too as she handed him a small foam basketball to dunk into the basket of the goal that hung from the garage. "Well look at how much you've grown, and all in one night!" The little boy laughed as Phoebe tickled his stomach while he held onto Gerald's head.

JJ held the ball out over Gerald's head, and pushed it over the edge of the metal hoop. "Alright!" Gerald encouraged. "Two more points for Doctor JJ and my patented Gerald Johannsen sky hook!" Gerald grinned as he put the tiny boy down on the safe pavement as Phoebe clapped and cheered.

The boy instantly ran over to her, slapped her outstretched hand, and latched onto her leg tightly asking with his killer grin and easy charm, "Can I please have a cookie, Aunt Phoebe?"  
Phoebe stroked the little boy's head lovingly and wanted to cave in to his request right then, but responsibly she answered, "You'll have to ask your mother first and if she says yes, then you may."

JJ ran to the arms of his mother and began the process of negotiating for sweets as she was helping clear away one of the picnic tables.

After she sent her darling son after his easily won cookie, Timberly heard, "Here, let me take that, Aunt 'Tim." Kyo said with chivalrous concern as he took a heavy looking platter of food away from his aunt, and pulled a chair towards her with his foot. "You really should be resting instead of working so hard."

"Oh, good Lord." Timberly sighed, and picked up a smaller bowl of food walking up the back steps towards the kitchen with her nephew. "You sound just like John, 'K, but I have to move or my muscles will cramp, and let me tell you, in the vernacular; cramps really suck."

Gerald caught Kyo's eye, winked, and tapped his watch in a silent exchange. Noticing it, Timberly asked, "What's that about?"

Kyo's face turned red, and it grew deeper as he replied with a smile. "You were busy with JJ when I told everyone that I'm going to go pick Gertie up at work and bring her back with me." Checking his own watch, Kyo related, "Her shift at the comic shop ends at nine and I don't want to be late."

The woman nodded with a hand to her warm head. "Oh, so that's what the knucklehead brothers were teasing you about earlier." Fanning her damp skin while rubbing his back comfortingly, Timberly smiled. "Don't pay them any attention at all, 'K," The kind woman waved her hand away, commenting slyly, "They're just jealous she's your girlfriend."

Kyo tried to be polite, and not roll his eyes, but he did say in exasperation, "But Gertie's not my girlfriend."

Timberly said sweetly, but in a meddlesome way, "You two would make a nice couple."

The boy sighed thinking about that afternoon as he placed his overloaded tray of food down on the counter. "I don't think that's going to happen anytime too soon, Aunt 'Tim."

The woman cracked a wicked grin, and questioned with a sly, leading tone, "But you'd like it to?"

Then Kyo took the bowl of potato chips from his tired looking aunt and dabbed her forehead with a cool, damp folded napkin while desperately looking to change the embarrassing subject. "Uh, are you sure you wouldn't like to lie down for a little while and put your feet up? In your um," The boy fumbled for the right word as he held his hand in a demonstrative fashion near Timberly's swollen midsection, "condition, you shouldn't strain yourself."

Timberly sighed and patted the concerned boy on the back as he kindly began fanning her face with a magazine. "Kyo, I'm pregnant, not a hernia patient. I'm perfectly capable of doing some tasks." The woman smiled, "You are a true gentleman, and awfully sweet though." Sensing Kyo's discomfort over Gertie, Timberly picked up the former topic, but with a distinct twist, "So, what else is going on with the stink toot twins other than fighting the football team?"

Kyo had to laugh at the nickname that Timberly had called his best friends since they were toddlers. Miles and Gertie both had a genius for trouble making that tested his aunt's babysitting skills and patience fully when she was a teenager. "Well, Miles got accepted by State, Gertie too, but she also sent an application to Wake Forest University." With a tone that couldn't be mistaken for anything but relief, Kyo smiled. "She was accepted, and Gertie's mom and dad told her to go to Wake if that's what she wanted, but tuition is cheaper here since she's a resident of this state, and 'Gert says that she wants to save her mom and dad as much money as she can so she's decided to go to school at State instead."

Timberly nodded, "Well, Wake is a good school, but that was good of Gertie to do, tuition fees are outrageous when you go to a school located in a state you're a resident of, much less out."

  
Elated, Kyo gathered, "I guess she, Miles, and me will be spending a whole lot more time with each other this time next year." Timberly couldn't help but notice the boy's wide, almost painful looking smile while he was talking about the girl he was obviously crazy about. "Besides, Gertie found out that she's won a scholarship from State to play women's hoops last week, so that has her locked in there for sure."

Timberly rubbed the small of her back and sat down. "I've seen the girl's highlights on the news, and she certainly deserves one. Has she decided on what her major will be?"

Kyo grinned more widely, but with his eyes rolled upwards. "Pre-Law, Gert's wanting to be a lawyer."

Timberly shook her head and waved her hand downwards. "Oh how apropos for Gertrude Shortman!" The woman said evenly, "That girl could argue with you over the color of white marshmallows." Then the woman asked with great suspicion, "What is Miles' major going to be?"

Kyo shrugged, "He hasn't decided anything, but you know Miles, he'll pick out something five minutes before we're supposed to graduate."

Timberly laughed and waved the boy's indecisiveness away. "Well that's okay too. Miles always lands on his feet and finds his way somehow." She observed cautiously, "That boy has more lives than a six legged cat." Then she began to praise her nephew. "I can't begin to tell you how proud I am of your acceptance into State too, 'K!" The boy nodded, and smiled as his aunt continued, "It's getting harder and harder to get into schools now."

"Well," Kyo began, "I took yours and mom's advice by packing in a lot of extra curricular activities, and I think admissions were kind of impressed with the Hillwood High I.Q. team's first win at Wellington College. Volunteering at the animal shelter and my job at the animal clinic with Doctor Dodson will give me an edge too." The boy added with caution, "At least I hope it will when it comes time for me to try to get into State's veterinary school program."

Timberly nodded and was going to say something, but she was interrupted by the telephone ringing, and any other time Kyo would have let the call go to the message recorder, but this number was extremely special. Nearly ripping the phone off its dock before the second ring could register, Kyo answered with excitement, "Hey, Ducky!" Then he said with a much more settled tone of mild disappointment when the caller spoke. "Miles? Yeah, I know she hates that nickname. Why is your phone coming up with 'Gert's number? Oh. Well I told you you should have gotten a different colored cell phone, Buddy." The boy paused then remarked with mischief, "You have your mother's eyes, and pink sure would look good on you, Shortman." Kyo held the phone away from his ear as a loud voice shouted mild abuse, and Timberly laughed.

After Miles settled down, Kyo said in disbelief, "You're done at nine? How in the world did you manage to swing that? Blackmail? No, I do not want to know what was dead this time. No, I told you not to tell me, oh, God, that's nasty! Yeah, I'm going to go pick Gertie up in a few minutes." Kyo exhaled an exasperated sigh from the pit of his being. "Yeah, there are still ribs left, pork and beef." Kyo renewed his promise. "I told you this afternoon, and fifty eleven times during your break tonight that I was gonna' save you some, didn't I?" Then Kyo growled, "I'm not about to keep her from eating what she wants to, Miles, and you're worrying for nothing anyway because there are plenty of ribs left, trust me!" Then Kyo said in frustration, "Good grief, man, they're just ribs! No, I am not going to hide any for you! Why? Because I, quit doing that! I mean it, stop it!" The boy shouted in both anger and frustration at Miles' kissy noises and his high-pitched I love you, Gerties, "You're an asshole, Miles!" Promptly, Timberly smacked Kyo's arm for using profanity, then the boy simply sighed and darkly said to his friend as he rubbed his stinging shoulder, "Aunt 'Tim just hit me for telling the truth and like Gertie said this morning, I hate you, Miles Shortman, I really and truly do."

Kyo sighed harshly at his aunt who was about to die laughing at the exchange, and then she made a grabbing motion with her hand as the boy gave her the phone. "Hey, Stink Toot! What's shakin', Shortman? I know! I can't wait to see you either, Sweetie! Yes, of course, John will be here, he's at the station now, but he's coming over later, right after he feeds and walks Puddles."

Timberly sighed, "What is it with you kids? The word is pregnant, Miles, you can say the word, it's a perfectly natural medical condition." She gave the phone a strange look then put it back to her ear. "Well why is it so embarrassing to say pregnant?" Timberly's eyes widened as the boy obviously rambled. "Never mind, you can call it the baby thing if you want to, sweetie." She said with her hand on her head with a raised eyebrow. "What was dead? Oh, that ain't right!" Timberly shrugged, "Well, you gotta' hand it to Mr. Chicken's, thirty five years and their quality is consistent after all these years. I can't wait to see you either. I love you too, Honey!" With a wicked smile Timberly ended with, "I'm giving you back to Kyo; you two can finish your lover's spat now."

Timberly handed the phone back to Kyo with an innocent grin and couldn't help but thoroughly enjoy the uncomfortable moment she had created between Miles and her nephew until they began speaking again. "Hey, is Stinki still there? She does? With Joey? That's interesting; I bet the princess is behind that. Anyway, if you would, please tell Stinki that if she and Joey want to swing by to come on. Okay, I'll see you here, Buddy!"

Timberly shook her head and said with concern after Kyo hung up the telephone, "The Shortman sounded a little congested."

Kyo nodded, and said with a warning, "It'll be hard not to, but don't be too shocked when you see him, he's looking pretty bad. Those jerks really did do a number on his face this morning."  
Timberly asked with great curiosity, "What was Miles talking about concerning blackmail?"

Kyo grasped his aunt's shoulders with a theatrical flair and addressed her with urgency. "Please just promise me that you will never ever eat anything from Mr. Chicken's House of Pancakes and Halibut," He paused dramatically then added, "I love you too much."

Timberly patted the boy on his shoulder thinking the melodrama was a bit much then assured him, "I worked there when I was your age, so trust me, I know." As an afterthought, Timberly mused, "I don't know which was worse, the food, the manager, the uniform, or that ugly chicken costume." With a wrinkled nose she observed, "No matter how many times you washed or sprayed something on it to kill the stink, that unholy chicken suit always smelled like dirty socks and corn chips."

Kyo laughed while shaking his head while tearing off two long strips of aluminum foil to place food on. Timberly stiffly rose and placed her hand on her aching lower back. "You know what, 'K? I think I will take you up on your offer and go sit down for just a few minutes, okay? Phoebe and Gerald are looking after JJ, and I could use a tiny rest."

The boy turned, "Would you like some help?"

Timberly shook her head, "No, Darling, I think I can manage, but thanks."

While she slowly walked towards the family room, Kyo studied his aunt with worry, but after checking on Timberly one last time to make sure she was seated comfortably in his father's easy chair, the considerate boy ran upstairs to take care of a few last minute things.

While laughs and loud banter rose from the backyard into the open window of the hallway bathroom, Kyo agonized over his appearance doubtful that he could improve it any further. After changing shirts, twice, flossing his teeth and washing his face checking for both blemishes and barbecue sauce simultaneously; he figured he had done as much damage as he could. As the boy stood in the open bathroom with his eyes shut and his hands braced on the sink, his mind was in turmoil.

As he grimaced at what he felt were his glaring shortcomings, Kyo's mind was dragged away from his self deprecating thoughts by, "Son?" Gerald asked with concern, "Are you okay? You didn't eat too much did you?"

Kyo's head snapped up with a questioning look. "No, Dad, I'm fine, thanks for the reminder on the time too." The boy said sheepishly as he had been keeping an eye on his watch to begin with.

"Wait here a minute, 'K." Gerald left the bathroom, and soon re-appeared with a green bottle that had gold lettering on it. "Here, let's put a little of this on you, Buddy." Gerald applied some of his cologne onto Kyo's neck and cheeks with light slaps and a knowing wink. "Your mom loves this stuff, maybe someone else will too." Gerald handed his boy a shiny set of keys. "I wish my car wasn't in the shop so you could take it, but your mom told me to give you these instead." Gerald stated with what sounded a lot like disappointment, "I know it's a station wagon, but girls dig new car smell, so maybe that will cancel the other fact out."

Not even bothering to feign ignorance, Kyo smiled for his father and took the keys to the brand new car that his parents brought home that day. "Thanks, Dad. I hope no one will be offended that I'm leaving for a little,"

The boy was interrupted by the sound of arguing, the reflection on the walls of the flickering light of something burning out the window, and the upset voice of his mother shouting mild profanity in Japanese with a slight southern accent over the sound of a spraying water hose, accentuated by the name, "GERALD!" being bellowed in panic.

Kyo's father ran out of the small room declaring with panic and certainty as Kyo followed to help, "Believe me, son, I wish I could go with you!"

* * *

After the situation had been dealt with, Timberly looked at Jamie-O, her three firebug nephews, and then the still smoking picnic table. "Instead of college, you might want to save for funerals, Jamie, because these boys are going to kill each other or themselves before they reach twenty one."

Timberly's husband who had shown up just in time rubbed her wide stomach, and kissed her cheek. "Are you ready for the trouble that two more boys can bring, Darling?"

Timberly pushed her husband playfully and declared, "I might as well be, 'cause they're coming whether we're ready or not." As she rubbed the tight, stretched skin of her stomach through her shirt, the tired woman cautiously added, "It's a good thing that you're a fireman, John." With a playful point, Timberly expounded, "That picnic table could have been a total loss if you hadn't shown up."

Kyo walked back outside with two long strips of aluminum foil as his father, Jamie-O, John, and Timberly were laughing. His mother, Phoebe, was standing with her hands on her hips looking upwards at the three gigantic teenaged boys that towered above her with both mild annoyance, and great humor.

Behind the regretful boys who were looking down in shame, stood a soaking wet picnic table, with a steaming tablecloth spread over it; and finishing the ensemble was a blackened tiki lamp lying on the grass.

Jamie-O gave his brother a look as Gerald laughed so hard that he couldn't draw breath into his body, and then the disapproving father shook his finger while giving all of his boys a stern look. "JJ is five years old, and he acts like he has more sense than all three of you put together! Now what do you say?"

All three towering boys, who at the moment looked like small children being chided, answered with deep resonant voices, truly sorry for what they had done. "Sorry, Aunt Phoebe and Uncle Gerald."

Gerald, Timberly, and John laughed as they gathered up the extinguished tablecloth to throw away. Phoebe answered the boys gracefully, then said with a joking lilt, "It's okay, I might let you all live this time." The woman then crossed her arms and finished with a wicked lilt, "Maybe."

  
As Kyo hurriedly gathered some barbecued ribs to take to the owner of his favorite comic book shop, his mother walked over and put her arm around her boy. Kyo smiled and said, "Thanks for lending me the car, Mom."

Phoebe winked, and said with mischief as she glanced at Jamie-O's sons, loud enough for them to hear, "Hurry back, I might have to take some oversized bodies to a desolate road and dump them off a steep, secluded hill."

Phoebe's miscreant nephews scrambled away, and her attention turned back to her son who was laughing at his mother's benign threat. "Isn't that a little hypocritical to your Hippocratic oath, Mom?"

Phoebe's eyes squinted, "Hippocrates never met Jamie-O's boys, son." Phoebe changed the subject like a piece on a chessboard. "So, how many of your friends are coming over?"  
Kyo placed a shallow foil tray on the grill and began putting sauce drenched ribs in it. "Miles called a little while ago to let me know he's coming. Stinki said she might be swinging by with Joey, but they're going on a date after she gets off work tonight, so it's nothing definite. Courtney didn't say one way or another when I invited her earlier, but I hope she's coming." The boy's attention turned back to the food he was wrapping up.

Then making an L shaped move on her sweet knight Kyo, his mother commented, "You look nice, 'K."

Hoping she didn't know all his efforts were for the sake of Gertie, Kyo blushed as he folded foil securely over warm, meaty ribs and made a flimsy excuse. "Yeah, I had to change the stains on my shirt and dad put some cologne on me." He looked upwards and slightly shrugged. "I don't know why though."

Phoebe reminded, "Don't forget to take Jay some corn, Sweetie." The thoughtful boy placed two ears of roasted buttered corn in a separate section of foil as his mother cornered his king in check. "You know," Phoebe's voice trailed off, "if you want to take the long way home after you pick Gertie up from work, it's okay. It is a new car, and your father says that the engine should be run to its full operating temperature before being turned off."

The boy answered, "I thought that wasn't true."

Phoebe shrugged, checked around herself for eavesdroppers, and declared checkmate with a kind, encouraging smile along with a whisper and an upwards tilted eyebrow. "It's a plausible excuse to be alone with her for a little while."

Kyo shook his head, embarrassed that even his mother knew he was in love with his best friend, but played it off. "Thanks, but I should be back in less than an hour, the shop will be closing not too long from now and the Shortman isn't going to want to go cruising because she'll want to hurry up and get here for you, Dad, Timberly, and ribs." Kyo motioned to the side with his head towards his ill-behaved cousins, "Not to mention mixing it up with the three stooges over there."

  
Phoebe, who had the privilege of seeing the secretive smiles and loving glances the girl in question had given her son on numerous occasions over the past few months knowingly assured, "I'm sure Gertie wants to be here for you most of all, 'K."

As he was about to make a denial at such an unlikely sentiment, Phoebe gave her surprised looking boy the best advice she could offer with a pat on the back. "Take a chance and tell Gertie how you feel about her, Sweetie." Her gentle hand caressed his smooth cheek. "I know it is much easier to say than to do, Kyo, but I think that you will be pleasantly surprised." The boy blushed as his mother placed a cellular phone into his hand and whispered, "Do what you want, but don't worry about being in a rush to get back."

JJ, who had been eavesdropping the entire time, blurted out as he grabbed his cousin's hand, "Can I go with you to get Gertie at the comic shop too, Kyo?" The boy was achingly cute, and had his hands placed together in prayer beseeching his favorite cousin to take pity on him. "Pleeeeeeease?"

It was definitely selfish and he did feel bad about it, but despite those sentiments, Kyo still didn't want to take the small boy with him. Kyo knew that JJ would be excited to go see Gertie, and that he would have to watch the kid like a hawk because he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off anything in the comic shop.

Besides that, Kyo wanted Gertie to himself for a little while.

Observing the apprehension in her son's eyes and knowing that he wouldn't be able to say "no" to the little boy himself, Phoebe smiled at JJ and made an artful suggestion. "How would you like to be my special little helper tonight? I need some help taking some of these dirty dishes inside, and tidying up a little bit." Phoebe ended with a promising lilt, "The job pays two dollars if you're interested."

JJ put his finger on his cheek and stuck his tongue out deep in thought, carefully weighing the pros and cons of his options. Wisely the boy queried the most important issue on his mind, "I'll still get to play with Gertie won't I?"

Phoebe nodded. "You had a good nap this afternoon and your mother said your bedtime is a little later tonight, so most definitely!"

The boy's choice was obvious. "I want to work for you then, Aunt Phoebe, because then I can go buy another goldfish." He whispered reverently, "We had to send Neptune to fish heaven in the toilet last week 'cause he was dead."

Phoebe gently took the boy's hand in hers, leading him away to the picnic table and as she did, Kyo called out, "Mom?"

The sweet tiny woman turned, and asked, "Yes?"

The boy answered, "Thanks, I'll be back soon."

Phoebe waved her free hand to the boy in a shooing motion as she mouthed, "Go on." to him, then ran to get another flaming tiki lamp out of the hands of one of Jamie-O's boys before he accidentally burned their house down.

Kyo got into the new car, placed the food somewhere that wouldn't cause harm in the form of stains, started it, and wondered if everyone knowing about his love for Gertie Shortman was a conspiracy.

* * *

Consuela gave her employer a good looking over and adjusted some clothing on his chest so that there would be no pinching creases to irritate his skin. While she did, she tried to make sure he had everything that he needed for his evening out with a checklist written out on paper. Thad rolled his eyes at the job Rhonda used to do for him, that his housekeeper had taken over doing as of late, complete with the list recited in confused womanese. "Do you have that beeper thingy on you?"

Thad tested his freedom with her just like he had his wife, and would slip away without the customary checking of what Rhonda jokingly called his "utility belt', but to Thad's chagrin, he found that exactly as his stubborn Rhonda did, Consuela would follow him too to make sure he had everything he needed. As it turned out, Rhonda could do it quite easily, more than able to find breath enough to loudly nag him all the way out the door, sometimes, shockingly, even while he was working with clients. Thad had to chuckle at the idea of the rotund sixty six year old woman who took care of his daughter and house doing the exact same thing as he said with a wry lilt, "Yes, Alfred, I have it."

The woman crossed her arms, and gave her friend a look. "Laugh it up, Batman." Then she gave him a light swat on the forearm, and stuck a cellular phone into his belt. "I swear Mr. Gammelthorpe, you think you have it all under control, but you would have been completely lost without me and Mrs."

The woman instantly looked down regretting her words, and then looked upwards begging forgiveness. "I am so sorry, Thad, I, I didn't mean,"

Thad smiled and put his hand on her shoulder. "Please don't be afraid to mention Rhonda, 'Con, it doesn't hurt to talk about her." His eyes looked down in honesty into her flooding ones, and swore if he didn't quit, his would too; and that wasn't an option right then.

"I miss her so much." The woman silently admitted with a sad sigh as she carefully adjusted his suit from the back so that it would not be wrinkled.

Thad pulled the older woman into his arms, hugging her tightly, with his smooth chin resting on the top of her head. "I do too."

After a few moments, the woman pulled away from her dear friend, swiped away her tears, and then forced a smile as she handed Thad the last article of he needed to put on, a covering for his head. After a few minor adjustments, and a few minutes, he asked in a naughty tone as he adjusted it, "Well, how do I look?"

Consuela replied, "Ready for a night on the town. When do you think you will be returning?"

  
Thad shrugged, "I don't know. I'm going to go and make sure 'Court gets out of work safely, then I'm going to go visit an old friend, I'll probably be back early if nothing comes up." Thad continued thoughtfully, "Things at the office haven't been as busy lately but if I'm still out and Courtney changes her plans, she'll call you. If she does, please call me on the other phone and let me know, okay?"

"The one in the Shakespeare bust?" Consuela asked with mischief as her second favorite source of worry turned up an eyebrow, and then opened an innocent looking door to leave. "I say it all the time, Mr. Gammelthorpe, but be careful!"

Thad turned, and with a perfect impersonation of Tygra from the Thundercats, he saluted and winked, "As a cat." As an afterthought, the naughty man turned and asked, "You sure you don't want to give this another try?" He ended in a sing song way, "It'll be fuuuuuun."

The white haired woman scoffed while pointing at the door, "The last time I tried that my rear end hurt for a whole week."

Thad looked down, "Yeah, I suppose you shouldn't." Then he looked back up at the woman with a naughty grin and a wicked wink. "You got a crack in it that time."

Trying not to laugh at him, but failing miserably, Consuela shooed the man away with a handkerchief. "Oh, you nasty thing just go, you're going to be late!" As her employer scurried away from her mild punishment, the basement door closed behind him and Consuela walked to the kitchen.

  
After a few minutes of waiting, and watching anxiously through the window, finally Consuela saw the dim headlight of an old black motorcycle wind through the small gravel road exiting the back property of the Gammelthorpe estate, eventually fading into the distance. When the dark figure completely disappeared, she gathered dishes to wash from the tiny table standing in the middle of the room.

Even when Mrs. Gammelthorpe was alive, the family never ate in the opulent dining room unless there was a party, or Mrs. Gammelthorpe's parents were over, instead choosing to dine at the small four-chair table in the kitchen. As a rule, the Gammelthorpe's requested that extra food be prepared daily for each meal and asked that the staff eat with them if they wished, either from the tiny four seat table or off the counters on the good china, and using the heirloom silver; all of them always treated like family.

No, not treated like, they were family and they would all joke, talk, and have a grand time with each other for hours. That is why everyone on the staff loved the Gammelthorpe household so much and would do anything for them.

Now, it seemed that all of the happiness was gone from the house and Consuela's heart ached because of it as she drew hot water into a sink to soak expensive dishes for hand washing.

She truly meant what she said to earlier when she said she missed Rhonda, for she was one of the best friends Consuela had ever had in her whole life. Rhonda, Thad, and Courtney were the closest thing to family that she had, and the house was quiet and so unbearably empty without Rhonda's presence in it during the day.

Consuela worked for the Lloyd's for years, and had known Rhonda since she was a young child, but when the she was younger; Consuela had to admit that she didn't like Mrs. Gammelthorpe much because she was spoiled, shallow, elitist, and petty.

In fact, she didn't even begin to like Rhonda until that one fateful summer evening.

It was atrocious what happened to her that night, but for all its vileness, the incident also served to force the self-centered girl to look at herself, literally, and see both people, and life in ways that she hadn't ever had reason to before.

After some time to adjust to her condition, Rhonda learned to care, empathize, and to not be so seduced by the superficial, and material. It was cliché, and Consuela had said it many times, but it was true, God did work in mysterious ways. In time Rhonda became a better person because of her terrible experience, and through it found something much more meaningful to live for rather than the latest empty fashionable thing and the approval of others.

Time passed, and young Rhonda got married, but when the Lloyds downsized their home, it also meant that the staff was downsized along with it.

Since she was the oldest by far, Consuela resigned so that the younger staff at the Lloyd household could keep their jobs. Rhonda soon heard about her leaving her parents' service, so she hired her for her own household management and upkeep. Over time she and Rhonda became extremely close friends, as Consuela also did with her husband, Thaddeus.

Pleasantly surprised, as it turned out, working in Mrs. Gammelthorpe's house was a complete joy, and not really like a job at all, but much more like a never ending tea party she was paid to attend. Of course, she brewed the tea and made the cookies, but how many staff are invited to sit and enjoy with the mistress of the home on a regular basis? They would spend hours talking about life in her native tongue while she watched Rhonda paint, fold warm towels together while trading jokes, or sit with crying babies at all hours of the day while worrying about Mr. Gammelthorpe when he was out working late at night.

Now, worrying about precious Courtney and Thaddeus was her main job now because before she passed, she promised Rhonda, without her asking, that she would protect them with her life if need be, and Consuela Acosta was a woman of her word.

She would die before she allowed anything bad to happen to Thad or Courtney, and if something did, she would slaughter whoever did the harm, that is if the others in the house didn't beat her to it first.

Staring aimlessly into the hot water, instead of washing the soaking dishes, Consuela grasped her rosary to solemnly pray.

It was a sin, and in accordance with the teachings of her religion she was supposed to be happy that the people she loved were in heaven, but still she was sad and cried for who they all had lost.

First she prayed for little Artillery, Rhonda, Thad; whose business was so important, and then for Courtney, who was like the little girl she never had.

* * *

"Nothing's wrong except for me."

And that was the song that played on a loop inside Courtney's head all evening long.

  
Losing count over how many times she had done it, the distracted girl put her hand into the pocket of her apron once again to make sure that the business card with Miles' cellular phone number written on it was still there.

Courtney had been a conscientious waitress that evening and done her job well, but she couldn't help but feel obligated to check the clock on the wall to see what time it was while filling glasses with tea, and mugs with coffee. Of course, every time she was caught doing it by her employers, they would just grin really big, like a run over opossum with its mouth agape.

Courtney didn't understand why she was working herself into such a snit over the whole affair anyway. It was just a phone call, all she would do is apologize to Miles for what she had done that day, thank him for the return of her property, try like hell to forget the contents of the shoebox, that insane letter, and allow that to be it.

Was that what she wanted though?

It was just that the more she thought about the letter, its content, and everything else he had brought her; Courtney couldn't help but ponder the possibilities it presented.

Besides, if Miles didn't care anything about her, he wouldn't have written that letter would he?  
He wouldn't have brought back the pullover, and he certainly wouldn't have exposed himself as questionably sane with that shoebox full of evidence of his admitted infatuation with her either.

  
Courtney then entertained the thought of his efforts perhaps being a sick joke, but like scientists say in argument to the theories of creationists concerning the dinosaurs, if Miles were faking, it was an extremely elaborate hoax.

And God Miles was really cute too.

The girl paused with that once forgotten sentiment as she finished topping off the last pepper shaker on the last table of her section.

When she dragged herself back down to reality, she found that the black spice was mounded up over the rim of the shaker. The inattentive girl tried to dash the pepper back into the tiny hole of the large metal box the spice came out of, but in the end Courtney was rewarded with a merciless barrage of violent sneezes.

She covered her mouth, nose, and desperately fumbled for a napkin out of the holder she had just finished filling. When she finally got a napkin started out of the stubborn metal holder, it opened and napkins sprang out of it looking like the mix between an accordion and a jack in the box. In a twist to her earlier profane suggestions to an official of higher learning that day, the girl offered a modest, "Dang it!" as she blew her burning nose and wiped her flooding eyes.

Westley finished locking the doors of the diner and said, "Bless you." For at least the sixth time before the nasal eruptions stopped. "You okay, Girl?"

"Yeah, I'm fine; I just got a little pepper dust in my nose." Courtney answered as she blew her nose and one handedly fixed the napkin holder.

"So," The man declared as he untied his apron, and walked towards the girl with a smile trying to not sound too obvious. "Got any big plans for tonight?" The strikingly handsome man looked upwards, dreadfully unable to pull nonchalant off even if his life depended on it. "Like calling that boy or something?"

The girl raised an eyebrow at him, as the honest man held up his hands. "I know, Nikki told me to ask you in a round about way but I didn't want to insult your intelligence."

Courtney grinned, "Thanks, and you can tell her I'm going to call him after I finish my duties." Then the girl got a quizzical look on her face as she topped off a ketchup bottle. Never having a better opportunity, she curious girl asked, "Why do you call Audra ' _Nikki_ '?"

The woman in back yelled, "'Cause it's my childhood nickname, and I _**HATE**_ it!" Then she stuck her head out of the doorway with a finger pointed at her husband, "Please don't egg him on."

Westley shot across his wife's bow, "What do you mean egg me on, Nikki? You're at least ten times more annoying than I could ever be, Nikki."

The woman retorted, "You traded every single damn one of my Battle Beasts for a pack of peanut butter crackers when we were in the fifth grade!"

Wes crossed his arms and replied, "You blame me for everything! It was your brother who did that!"

Audra yelled as she drew closer, "The hell he did, you are the biggest liar to ever draw a breath!"

Wes struck a faux martial arts pose. "I know karate!"

The irate woman shot back, "A third degree black belt in **_bullshit_**!"

As yet another childish argument grew exponentially between her employers, Courtney laughed at the quasi angry banter the couple engaged in, knowing they didn't mean most of what was said. She went in back, poured herself a glass of sweetened tea, and after the office door in back slammed, Westley was busy picking a sesame seed coated hamburger bun out of one of the back pockets of his pants. "You're in some kind of trouble now, Buddy." Courtney well noted.

The poor stuck man shrugged with a smile. "At least she didn't stick it where she threatened she would."  
"It's a great shortcut to get your fiber for the day if you don't wanna' eat it." The girl grinned as Wes made a face, then shook her head, and went into the break room to give the couple privacy so they could kiss; and make up as usual.

Courtney sat down at the table, picked up the tiny action figure out of the shoebox, and took a sip of her drink. With a sigh of resignation she replaced it, got out her cell phone, turned it on, and checked to see if she had missed any messages. When seeing she hadn't missed a call from her father, or Consuela, and saw that the two people who approached being sort of her friends hadn't called her either; she fished around in her apron, and slapped down the business card with Miles' number on it. With trepidation she looked at it, despite the many signs she had received that day about him, still not sure if she should call it or not.

She was broken from her revelry with a knock on the door and a cajoling voice on the other side of it, "Have you called him yet, Sugar?"

Courtney rolled her eyes as she replied, "No, not yet," With a sigh as she conceded defeat and blew her bangs out of her face. "but you were the tie breaker, and I will in a minute."

  
The girl whispered to herself, "Or ten." As she worked herself up to call the boy whom she wanted to like, but was afraid to love.

* * *

There were two other comic book shops in town, but Atomic Comics was the most popular and Kyo was fairly sure because of his best friend's presence.

Everyone he knew from Hillwood High, from students to teachers, were all in love with Gertie, not only because she treated everyone well; but also because she was bright, funny, and just completely perfectly wonderful in every way possible.

After she broke up with Tim and the scumbag started that awful rumor about her, Kyo couldn't understand why Gertie was so worried about what he said about her because absolutely no one believed it.

When word got out how upset Gertie had been about the entire affair, and that was the reason why she was absent from school, Tim received more than one generous offer to have his ass kicked by various people at school, even by members of his own team and had his Mustang keyed twice. Even though Kyo didn't think the things the kids at school had done to Tim's property was right, still, it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.

As such, Gertrude Shortman, the de facto matchmaker and unopposed high priestess of Hillwood High, being incapable of doing any wrong whatsoever, was the hot topic of talk in the shop during the entire evening, as was Miles, pertaining to their spirited interaction with the football team.

Gertie had been worried that afternoon about what people thought of her brother and her after their fight with Tim, Todd, and James, but Kyo found Gertie surprised to hear that the violent penance she made the three boys pay for beating her brother up, and treating Courtney Gammelthorpe like crap was lauded.

Gertie had valiantly tried to keep the topic off of both her and the morning's events, but when one of the boys jokingly insinuated that she did all the fighting for her brother that day, true to form, she really talked her brother up to everyone in attendance.

Gertie told everyone that Miles was much better in the martial arts than she was and that he simply didn't get a chance to use any of his skills seeing as James, Tim, and Todd all ganged up on him three to one. When one of the boys insisted that she was being modest, her final argument was that three huge boys against one was a challenge that even the Abdicator would be hard pressed to match, and then Gertie continued joking with the customers as she fulfilled her work duties after changing the subject.

As he watched Gertie, and the others watching her, Kyo thought it was insane how so many guys fawned over his friend. All of that was fine, but there was a boy in attendance that played baseball for Hillwood in their graduating class paying Gertie more due than the others in attendance, and he didn't like it.

Even though the competition paid for his comic books well over twenty minutes ago and should have left by then, Kyo could only gather that he was stalling for time until he worked up the nerve and opportunity to ask Gertie somewhere after the store closed.

As it was at the moment, the baseball player had twenty minutes left to ask Gertie out and despite the fact that Kyo tried not to, he scowled at him. The owner of the shop, Jay, hadn't missed it, and raised an eyebrow at Kyo as he rolled the roasted corn in his hands, methodically chomping kernels of corn off the cob like a starving robot beaver. The observant man then cast the naked cob into a trash can, smiled wryly at the young man, finally cracking a grin as his best customer. In turn, to cover his jealousy, Kyo picked up a comic to thumb through as if he was reading it, still intently studying his rival's subtle behaviors.

Watching the opposition with a growing feeling of nausea, Kyo knew that if he gave another of Gertie's jokes too loud of a laugh, flashed that perfect straight toothed grin at her, or ran his hand through his hair one more time; he swore to God that he was going to blow cat sized chunks.

Completely oblivious to what were the flirtations of her classmate, Gertie simply prattled on about the latest dramas in the comic titles she enjoyed as she bent down to place a stack of comic books on a low hanging shelf. As the baseball player's eyes studied her form in awe, over time, Kyo had begun to notice more frequently than he liked to admit, there was a darker side to the Shortman's allure.

Kyo was disgusted that very time his best friend bent over that evening to put comics on low lying shelves, or leaned down to get something out of a glass case, male eyes always roved over her; trying to glean peeks at what only fantasy could divulge.

Even though Gertie always wore spartan clothing, the woman still had curves that a baggy burlap sack couldn't hide and Kyo couldn't stand the way that boys at school, and there ogled at her like she was a piece of meat or something.

To his relief however, the crisis had been averted, and now Kyo basked in relief, because even though Slugger had finally found the nerve to ask Gertie to go get some ice cream with him after the store closed, she declined, citing she had other plans.

Struck out, "Mr. Baseball" was gone now, but not before he took one last one last look at Gertie through the window with what resembled soul crushing regret.

Sure, Mike Bitting was a really nice guy, everybody liked him, and for being one of the popular sports in crowd kids, he never acted like Gertie's favorite word, but Kyo couldn't help but feel glad he was shot down, and jealous of him all at the same time.

Kyo wished that he could be a little more muscular, or good at some kind of sport, and then maybe Gertie would look at him as something else other than just the quirky best pal that existed in every teen oriented movie known to man.

Putting those thoughts out of his mind for a moment, Kyo reveled in the fact that as it stood now, the store was empty of customers, and it wouldn't be long, just fifteen minutes that seemed to drag into forever, until he would be in a car, driving at night, alone with her.

That was something at least.

As per her duties, and being near closing time, Gertie began turning off brightly colored neon lights twisted into super hero emblems. As she did, Jay addressed his employee with a full mouth, "It's not long until closing, 'Gert, you can go on with 'K if you wanna'."

Gertie joked, "You tryin' to get rid of me, Jay?"

The man swallowed and shrugged, "Hey, I just can't stand another fifteen minutes with you, Kid, I'm sorry." Jay ended with a sly wink at Kyo.

As Kyo blushed, the girl shook her head. "Are you sure?" Gertie picked a couple of comic books off of a rotating, squealing wire rack that read 'Hey, kids, comics!' got out her wallet, and checked herself out. "What if a hundred people come in here at the last minute wanting to clean out their bags?"

Jay laughed, "Girl, please! I can hear crickets chirping out there. Trust me; if anyone else comes in I'm fine, so go on. I know you want to have fun with your friends, and you deserve it after the day you've had today, Punisher."

The girl grinned, and picked a letter jacket with her name embroidered on it off of the back of a wooden chair. "Thanks, Jay; I'll make it up to you, promise." Gertie then pointed to her own cheek with a grin. "You have a little barbecue sauce on you there, Bub."

"Thanks, Wolvie." Jay joked as he wiped his face, and then his attention turned to Kyo. With three long rib bones poking through his balled right fist, he addressed the boy with his teeth bared, "Thanks for bringing me these ribs, 'K!" Then Jay cracked a big smile, pointing towards Kyo with his new mutant enhancements, "Tell your dad he's still the undisputed grill king."

  
Gertrude laughed loudly at her employer's snarling face and bone claws and then snapped a picture with the cellular phone she had with her as Kyo scoffed. "There's no way I'm about to tell him that! His barbecue ego is about to swelled to bursting now."

Gertie slung on her letter jacket, picked up the gallon of mayonnaise sitting in a chair, and forced it into Kyo's arms with a big smile. "Here, 'K, it's your turn to change the baby." As Kyo gave Jay a strange look at the action and what she said, the man simply guffawed at the expression gracing the boy's face.

Once outside, the girl remarked to her friend, "I thought your mom made up her mind for the last time to buy the convertible."

Kyo laughed and replied, "She did, but after a wreck she saw the victims to in a convertible a couple days ago she changed her mind one last time and decided to go with substance rather than style." The boy shrugged as he placed the mayonnaise container in a plastic bag and secured it in a built in grey mesh cargo net and closed the hatchback. With a hearty pat on the roof, Kyo remarked, "I'm glad she bought this car instead of the convertible, because she would have gotten tired of the sports car in under a week." Kyo shrugged. "Mom needs to haul around a lot of stuff anyway, so the station wagon was the much better choice."

  
Gertie grinned, thinking that it sounded like Kyo had sold his mother the vehicle himself. "If you keep telling yourself that you'll believe it eventually, 'K."

Kyo opened the door for the girl he adored, muttered, "Tell me about it." and then allowed Gertie to get in, closed the door back, and ran to the other side to get in.

When he got inside, Gertie added, "Well this ride is still extremely nice, and I love the new car smell!" The girl mused as she struggled with the shoulder strap, "Hell, you're lucky, my mom and dad wouldn't even consider trusting me with a brand new car after I hot dogged in the 'Vette."

As Gertie continued repeatedly tugging the shoulder and lap restraint, she was quickly beginning to lose patience and started yanking it violently. Kyo held up his hand, "Wait a second, 'Gert, there's a trick."

He placed his right hand on the seat beside Gertie's hip, and she said as she picked up a folded paper bag, "Here, let me get those."

"Who are those for?" Kyo asked knowingly.

Gertie grinned. "These books are for the ever delightful JJ." Playfully she mused, "Comic books are just like cigarettes, booze, and porn, you gotta' snag 'em while they're young."

Kyo cleverly retorted, "The last three things kind of sell themselves, 'Gert." As she laughed, he observed, "No wonder why that kid worships the ground you walk on."

Gertie grinned, "I'm one hell of a hide and seek player too."

'I wouldn't be opposed to playing hide and seek with you.' The smitten boy thought as he stretched across her to pull the seat belt over her torso and lap with his neck almost touching Gertie's nose. "By the way, Miles called me from Mr. Chicken's House of Death; he said he's coming over when he gets off work."

Gertie picked up only half of what Kyo was saying because she was occupied by the cologne that he was wearing. Unable to restrain herself, she leaned closer to the alluring fragrance, therefore his neck, closed her eyes, took the advice of the elderly bum that lived in the subway car, and breathed deep. God, it was inexplicable how good he smelled, and not only was the cologne delicious, but melded with his own natural scent, it made her want to bury her nose in Kyo's lovely mocha skin and never remove it again.

As Gertie inhaled more deeply, Kyo grasped the seat belt in his hand, gave it two quick tugs, and the belt finally began to slide freely from its housing. "There you go, Ducky." The boy looked at his friend kind of funny because she wasn't paying any attention to him, and the warm breath from her nose was tickling his neck.

"Huh?" Gertie said mindlessly as the boy grinned, and she figured she might as well conjure up with some half assed irritation so he wouldn't think she was weird. "Confound it, Kyo!" The girl exclaimed as the boy laughed loudly at his friend, "Quit callin' me Ducky! I hate that blasted nickname and you know it!"

Kyo nodded as Gertie snapped the metal belt clip into the clasp. "Okay, I promise I won't call you Ducky anymore," The boy paused, and then added, "Ducky."

The girl growled, crossed her arms and made up her mind to not talk to her friend for at least a couple of minutes as he laughed at her like a maniac.  
Gertie said in consternation as she looked out of the window and they began to drive away, "Well, at least Miles didn't have to clean up that greasy hellhole he works at tonight. Is Stinki coming?"

Kyo shook his head, and looked at her knowingly. "She said she might show up later with Joey Jackson, but she's got a hot date with him tonight so it's unconfirmed."

Gertie joyously exclaimed, "Crap damn, _finally_!" Kyo gave the girl a strange look at the newest combination of mild foulness she had put together as she declared with relief, "That was a job getting those two hooked up." Then the girl shrugged. "Now I can find a girl for George Fish to ask to the prom, granted he's a little on the shy side, but a really nice boy once you get him to open up." Gertie opened up a small black note pad secreted in her pocket, and crossed out the names of other clients she had matched up that week and pondered while chewing the eraser of her well worn pencil. "He doesn't know Tracy Gorton likes him; so I think I'll introduce them to each other more formally in Mrs. Paul's math class when I get back to school next Thursday."

  
Resisting the urge to make a joke about something in Gertrude's methods being somewhat fishy, Kyo looked at her like she was nuts. "From the thickness of that book it looks like you need to rent office space, get another laptop and start charging these people a fee."

Gertie laughed, "I provide a valuable community service and seeing people happy is payment enough for me."

Kyo joked, "You match all these people up, and they never break up but you don't have a boyfriend yourself."

Instantly, Kyo regretted his ill conceived compliment, and wondered if there was a crowbar big enough for him to pry his foot out of his cavernous mouth.

As the drive back to his house progressed in uncomfortable silence, Kyo noticed that every time he looked at his friend, she looked away out the side window. Feeling bad about dredging up bad memories of Tim for her and thinking that she was angry with him for calling her Ducky too, Kyo said with regret, "I'm sorry, 'Gert, I didn't mean to bring up," He paused, trying to think of the right thing to say, "well, you know."

Gertie smiled warmly, and cheerfully waved away Kyo's concern with her hand, "I am so over that jackass, don't worry about it."

Glad of such, but finding it odd, Kyo sighed then brought up his other faux pas, "I also promise that I won't call you that nickname you hate any more if it really bothers you too." The boy rationalized, "I thought you were kind of pretending not to like it because you needed easy excuses to start fights with Miles."

"Jeez, Kyo!" Gertie said as she laughed loudly, bracing herself with her bad hand on her friend's shoulder, grateful that he didn't realize that she was looking at him like a delicious, well seasoned rare steak earlier. "People are going to say that I have you whipped! I don't dictate what you say, and don't apologize either. If you want to call me the 'D' word, then do it." The girl added, "I'll just hate you for it."

Kyo said, "Okay, Ducky."

Then, Gertie just asked out of the blue, "You were going to tell me before Jella and Andrea showed up this afternoon, what did the inscription in that book you gave me today say?"

The boy swerved a little, forcing Gertie to grasp her shoulder restraint and look at him again, this time it wasn't in loving rapture, but wondering if he were going to kill them both. Kyo regained control, swallowed hard, and gripped the steering wheel tightly. He knew he could do this, he wasn't expecting it, so he didn't have time to prepare for, or dread it, but he could do it.

  
"Well, it said, um," Kyo began to start nervously, but his confession was interrupted by the cellular phone in Gertie's pocket which sounded with a ring tone that her brother paid a ridiculous amount of money for every time it rang.

" _Transformers, more than meets the eye! Transformers, robots in disguise! Transformers! Autobots wage their battle to destroy the evil forces of the Decepticons_!"

"Oh, for the love of!" As the rest of the theme played, Gertie checked the number and didn't recognize it. She thought about letting the call go to voice mail, but instead the considerate girl erred on the side of helping one of Miles' friends get in touch with him and answered, "Hello?"

  
The girl had a wide eyed look on her face and she blurted out in surprise, "Courtney?" Gertie looked at Kyo, and he had the same nonplussed expression on his face. "No, this is his sister. Evidentially I mistakenly picked up my brother's phone when we left home tonight. No, no, no, please don't hang up; you're not bothering me at all!" The girl had a funny look on her face, and Kyo swore that Gertie sounded exactly like her mother when she said, "Don't say that about yourself! Why are you stupid, Sweetie?"

Kyo looked at Gertie and held out his hand. "Here, give me the phone, I'll handle her."

  
Kyo took the phone from Gertie and spoke into it speaking Japanese at first, "Konbanwa, Courtney, nanika atta?" Thanks to disgusting amounts of time spent watching English subtitled anime, Gertie understood a little of what Kyo was saying, but she was mostly lost after, 'Good evening, what's up?'

Kyo then began to converse in English when he had eventually lost his friend. "No, no excuses, Gammelthorpe, you're coming. Yes you are. You're not bothering anyone. Look, if I didn't want you to come over I wouldn't have invited you, besides, my cousins are there, you're a lightning fast runner, and I need people on my side for football or else I'm going to lose badly." Gertie's eyebrows went up when the negotiations turned from gentle cajoling to downright dirty blackmail. "I covered your hind end for extemporaneous speech in Latin during competition when you were so nervous you couldn't stop throwing up. You owe me a huge favor for that, lady, and the Courtney Gammelthorpe I know always pays her debts!"

Kyo listened to the girl protest one last time before he simply said, "Wow, Courtney, I can't believe you agreed to come so easily!" Gertie listened to the panicked voice on the other end of the conversation quickly argue with what sounded like horror. "Okay, I can't wait to see you at the house either! Bye!" Kyo hurriedly turned the phone off before the Courtney could call back.

Gertie daintily took the phone away from her friend with her thumb and index finger, made sure that it was off, and then put it back in her pocket. Facing Kyo, Gertie politely queried, "What in the hell was all of that about?"

Kyo shook his head, "I had to go pick up some more potato chips for the locusts to devour a couple of hours ago and while I was out I went to Courtney's job and invited her to come to the barbecue." Kyo observed, "I swear, that girl has the lowest self esteem of anyone I've ever,"  
"No." Gertie interrupted with great suspicion, "The guilt trip you've just over-packed Courtney's luggage for."

Kyo shrugged, "Well, your misguided brother, who is obviously smitten with Miss Gammelthorpe will be there and would that not be a good way for them to get to talk to each other in a neutral, relatively peaceful environment?"

Gertie shook her head, "Miles is so obvious about that girl it's pathetic, but this just in, Kyo," Gertie flung up her hands and sounded a lot like her mother as she yelled, "Courtney HATES Miles! She smacked him around like a pimp's lowest earnin' bitch this morning and told him in front of God and everybody that she wanted him to be dead for crap's sake!"

Kyo raised his index finger in counter point. "So after all of that, can you think a good reason why Courtney would even be calling Miles' cell phone number?" That was a good point that Kyo had brought up Gertie thought, but before she could forward any theories of her own, her wiser friend continued. "Obviously, she's not tickled about the way he's acted towards her in the past, and Courtney may have said she hates Miles this morning, but deep down she didn't really mean it, because she's always had a thing for him, ever since we were little kids; actually."

She did a double take. "What? Well, how do you know?"

Kyo said truthfully, "She told me she did." Gertie's eyebrow rose, and the boy added cautiously, "Well, after I annoyed her enough about it. In American History class Miles sits behind Courtney and I sit next to her, so I can testify that I've seen her check Miles out with a compact mirror more than she does her watch."

Studying the road and Gertie's expression intermittently, to his surprise, his friend's mouth was agape but not a syllable issued forth. For the first time in his life, Kyo figured that Gertrude Roberta Shortman was at a loss for words, an unfathomable condition for the headstrong woman he was in love with, and it was worthy of remembrance.

The only thing Gertie offered in response was a classy, "You've gotta' be shittin' me."

To validate his veracity in the highly unlikely and wholly unexpected state of delicate affairs between Gertrude's sibling, and his own shrinking acquaintance, the young man responded with a calculated affirmation in the affirmative. "I shit you not, Shortman." The boy smiled widely. "Courtney and Miles together at the house tonight should set in motion an interesting chain of events that will be if nothing else, interesting to watch unfold." With a wicked, even wider grin, Kyo announced in a British accent, "And now for something completely different."

Gertie stated with great certainty, "You know Miles is going to crap his pants and act like a complete dumbass when he sees her there don't you?"

Kyo grinned wickedly. "Dinner and a show."

Gertie shook her head and said dryly, "You are going to go to hell and fry when you die, Kyo Johannsen."

The boy shrugged, "I'll save you a seat, Shyster."

Gertie smiled. "Already with the lawyer jokes."

* * *

"Hey, 'Con, I'm not coming home right after work like I said I would." The responsible girl explained as she scribbled on a piece of white paper as best she could in the darkness of the alleyway behind her workplace. "I've been made to feel guilty and blackmailed into attending the tail end of a barbecue at Kyo Johannsen's house." After Consuela's response, Courtney blustered into the phone loudly, "How is that a good thing?" After that, Courtney rolled her eyes and asked, "I left a message on his voice mail, but if you would, please let dad know where I'm going to be so the mayor won't send every precinct out looking for me. I should be home before my curfew, but if I'm going to be late, I'll call you, okay?" The girl smiled, "Love you too. I'll tap on your door when I get home." The girl sighed, and sounded exactly like her mother when she replied with an unconscious flourish of her hand. "You worry entirely too much, Consuela; we've got the police and that _nutjob_ Monkeyman running around to protect us, what can possibly happen?"

Consuela laughed loudly as the girl looked up, down, and around herself making sure no one was sneaking up behind her, and after an admonishment to be careful, Courtney ended the call with, "Okay, I will, thanks, 'Con."

Courtney balled the piece of paper she wrote on, completely disgusted with her sloppy writing, and threw it down the alleyway without a thought. She couldn't believe it because of the weakness of her throw, but it landed on the roof of the building next to the diner.

Courtney slipped her cellular phone back into her pocket and began the process of removing the T-tops off of her Corvette. After sandwiching the tops between two pieces of stained green foam that had seen much cleaner days, Courtney walked around the front of the car and glared at her headlight doors for their silent rebellion to her will. After hurting her fingers pulling those up, wishing the actuators didn't need replacing, the smarting girl got into the car, started it, and drove slowly towards the Johannsen house thinking of what she should take as an offering.

Her mother always told her that it wasn't necessary, but that it was good manners for someone to take a bottle of wine or a wheel of smelly cheese to a host's house when they were an invited guest. Since she didn't want the reeking stench of stilton in her car for a month, and she was not of legal age, so buying a bottle of booze was out of the question, Courtney settled for walking out of Slausen's with two half gallons of ice cream. One container was packed with a rather common cookie dough flavor, but the other was full of an exotic mix that was varying shades of brown, mixed together with black looking clumps in it called dark chocolate brownie midnight mocha delight, most people liked chocolate, so that's what she bought.

It really wasn't a long distance from there to Kyo's house, but both frozen desserts were already beginning to melt due not only to the residual heat of the day, but also to her surprise, because a lot of kids from Hillwood High were there on dates and they all wanted to talk to her for some unknown reason.

Courtney was extremely embarrassed for the way she had acted that morning, and took the opportunity to apologize for her actions, but she was surprised to find the attitudes of her fellow students were both forgiving and congratulatory. Some of her newest admirers had even offered to buy her ice cream, and some tendered apologies for the way she was treated, or asked her how she came up with what had become one of the most filthy, yet original, and well respected catchphrases to ever infect the already appalling lexicon of Hillwood High School.

Not used to the attention, and wanting to get away before someone else came up to her, Courtney hurriedly pushed the T-tops resting on the rear deck of her car over and wedged the softening containers of ice cream between the tops and the wall hoping they'd be out of the worst of the heat. She knew that if she put the cartons in the passenger area floorboard, the high temperature that poured in from the firewall and transmission housing like a blast furnace from the engine would melt the ice cream between there and the Johannsen house.

In the process of putting on her seat belt and then her keys in the ignition, in the distance, Courtney heard a boy and a girl arguing. She hadn't witnessed the beginning of the disagreement, but Courtney clearly heard the final, unflinching rebuttal of the irritated girl much to her chagrin as her forehead hit the top of her steering wheel.

" **Oh yeah**? Well _you_ can stick _your_ weenie up _your_ butt!"

  
Upon hearing loud laughter from the kids gathered around the ice cream shop, and raising her head off the steering wheel with every intention of quickly leaving in discomfiture over the outrageous monster she had inadvertently created that morning, Courtney noticed a familiar boy walking up the sidewalk in the rear view mirror. She knew she should be leaving so she'd get her ice cream to Kyo's, but instead she slowly adjusted the mirror in order to keep track of the young man's movements.

As he stopped and spoke to some people, Courtney stared at Miles intensely and even though his face was swollen, he still cut a handsome appearance, and with a blush, she was of the opinion that the rest of him looked pretty good too.

Dragging her thoughts from the gutter, Courtney realized that the more she thought about it, the reason why he looked so terrible was on her behalf and as she stared at the boy who said he loved her, surprisingly, Miles looked up at her in return and their eyes met for the first time since that afternoon.

Miles' eye contact never breaking hers, Courtney stewed in panic as he politely ended the conversation with the couple he was speaking with, roughly combed his fingers through his hair, and then began to walk towards her car with a cautious gait while smiling. "Oh, God, he knows it's me."

Courtney wondered if she should get out of the car, walk up to him, and apologize to Miles for that morning, thinking in lightning panic of what she possibly could say, each scenario getting not only more lurid, but also ridiculous.

' _I'm sorry I hit and wished death on you today. I gotta' warn you that have a hell of a temper, and if we get married someday, I really hope you won't press charges_!'

" _Hi, Miles, I'm sorry I acted like a complete and total head case this morning_." She could just envision herself chucking him on the shoulder and her laugh sounding like a braying ass while adding tastefully, ' _but, you know, they don't call me Crazy Courtney for nothing_.'

Then, much more seriously, Courtney settled in her mind for staying seated in the car, saying a nice, 'Hi', deciding to let Miles do the rest of the talking. If she could worm in an apology she would be set, this whole unpleasant business would be over, and they'd never have to bother one another again.

Yes, that was the plan.

As the clock in the tower in the court house struck nine fifteen, and as Miles moved closer to her car by the moment, she began to give in to second thoughts, wondering if she wanted to stay there or flee.

Ultimately, her courage failed her, so chickening out at the speed of cluck, and with zeal flagging her like Dominic Distarce; Courtney started Tracks. After racing the engine twice to make sure the engine didn't stall out, she pulled the automatic shift into three, barely checked traffic to see if it was clear, and then peeled out of her parallel parking spot as if she had pole position for the nineteen thirty five Indianapolis five hundred and a green flag.

The kids in attendance outside didn't realize that Courtney wasn't showing off, so as a result, they stood en-masse and howled their approval of the loud squealing tires and thick stinking smoke she and her Corvette left in their wake.

As the teens yelled and cheerfully whooped at Hillwood High's newest wild girl hero, Miles stood on the sidewalk quietly, watching the two round red tail lights fade away into the dark distance, turning back onto Stratford Road to disappear from sight with a frown.

Miles rationalized that Courtney must think he was some kind of nut for her to take off like that and she obviously didn't want a thing to do with him at all.

Despite the fact that she drove away when he walked towards her though, Miles wasn't sorry in the least that he had written his long apology letter to Courtney, and was glad that he had gathered the courage to finally tell her the truth about how he really felt about her.

It just hurt that after everything he did to try to make things better and show how much he cared about her, Miles had to face the painful fact that Courtney would never like him, let alone love him, and it broke his heart. Despite the pain, Miles couldn't blame the girl at all, because if someone had treated him the way he had her, he wouldn't want anything to do with him either.

Miles knew that men were not supposed to cry, and mind you, he wasn't, but there was something other than choking black smoke and tire dust that was making both his eyes sting and nose run. He carefully looked around to make sure no one was watching before he swiped the pooling tears out from under them and then sniffed while gently swiping under his nose with the back of his hand.

After settling a little, his head was throbbing mercilessly, and in that moment, all Miles wanted to do was to go home, crash in his room, pull his sheets over his head, and wish he could fulfill the request that Courtney made of him that morning; but he couldn't even go and do that.

God only knew what was being done to defile it right now by his parents and he did promise to go to that damn barbecue he wasn't in the mood to go pretend he was happy at.

With melancholy resolve, Miles walked into Slausen's to pick up a half gallon of lime sherbet to take to Kyo's. Gertie had the glory of getting to take an entire gallon of mayonnaise there, and Aunt Phoebe and Uncle Gerald might think he were rude for showing up empty handed.

* * *

Atop a moonlit rooftop, a dark figure opened a wrinkled a piece of paper reading with both curiosity and mixed emotions.

In the early days of his crime fighting career he made it a point to protect the girl's mother because he had fallen in love with her, but when Rhonda Lloyd got married, to of all people a lowly, questionably sane dry cleaner; he tried with varying degrees of success, to distance himself from the beautiful woman.

Despite his best efforts, Monkeyman never stopped loving Rhonda and even though he had limited his contact with her, he faithfully continued to check in on her to keep her safe, and with the passage of time, that protection extended to her child as well.

One night, not too terribly long ago, he visited the woman he loved one last time to say goodbye to her, devastated to hear she was dying. Needlessly, Rhonda thanked him for everything he did for her over the years and as a last favor; asked that he keep a closer eye on her daughter Courtney, as he did for her once upon a time.

The good man vowed he would, so every time the girl's quitting time came around, faithfully the mysterious man lurked in the shadows, making sure Courtney got into her car safely every night that she worked late.

How could he possibly have refused a request from Rhonda Wellington Lloyd Gammelthorpe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Arnold was created by Craig Bartlett and is owned by Viacom Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> Thundercats was created by Ted Wolf, All related indicia, including the names Cheetara and Tygra belong to Time-Warner Inc. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> The Punisher was created by writer Gerry Conway, and artists John Romita Sr. and Ross Andreu. Wolverine was created by Len Wein and artist John Romita Sr.; both characters belong to Marvel Comics Inc. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> The characters Batman, Robin, and Alfred were created by Bob Kane, and are the property of DC Comics who in turn is owned by Time-Warner Inc. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> I also make reference to the 1966 Batman television show, which was produced by Greenway Productions/Twentieth Century Fox Television. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> Transformers, and the character name Tracks, is the property of Hasbro Inc. and Takara/Tomy Ltd. of Japan. No infringement is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> The lyrics of the theme song Transformers (1984-1987) were written by Ford Kinder and Ann Bryant, with the music being composed by Johnny Douglas and Rob Walsh. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> The Battle Beasts toy line was created by Takara/Tomy Ltd. and was also marketed by Hasbro Inc. as an entity separate from the Transformers line in North America. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> I have no idea who owns Monty Python's Flying Circus, however no infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from the song "Grazin' in the Grass" composed by Harry Elston, and performed by The Friends of Distinction.
> 
> Dominic Distarce was a midget car racer in the late 1920's through the 1930's. He raced in and also flagged a lot of the midget car circuit races that the Gilmore Petroleum Company sponsored. The wooden flagman located atop the roofs of Gilmore filling stations located in Washington, Oregon, and California are rumored to be based on his likeness, and are constructed to hold a racing flag to sway in the breeze. In the petroleum collecting hobby, the wooden standees actually are called "Dominics". 
> 
> It took me over a decade to find and then actually be able to afford one, but now I own one of the black and white checkered flags emblazoned with Gilmore's famous pouncing "Red Lion" that was held by the wooden standees. I traded a junker 1978 Corvette, a break job, front and back, and a home made meal complete with a pecan pie for the flag-and it was worth every bit of it.


	9. Poor Leno

_King County Courthouse_  
_516 Third Avenue_  
_Seattle, Washington 98104_

_Dobbs, Leno_  
_Prisoner Identification Number: A762-809_  
_Court Case Number: 78-75643_  
_County of Conviction: King County, Washington_

_Your Honor, and members of the Parole Hearing Board,_

_Due to prior request, though my attorney, I recently received notification by King County Department of Corrections notifying me of an upcoming parole hearing for case number A762-809._

_I am writing this letter to you, Your Honor, the King County District Court, and members of the Parole Hearing Board in protest of the suggested release of inmate number A762-809._

_The parole hearing subject and his legal council will have complete access to any paperwork and transcripts that Your Honor’s court and the Corrections/Parole Boards receive before, during and after proceedings._

_Under the advisement of my attorney and the guidelines presented by victim services for writing a victim impact statement letter, my personal name, telephone number, business and home addresses will not be included in this document._

_If you have any questions separate from this letter before the scheduled hearing, or in the event of a change in time or venue for this case, please use the contact information of my attorney located on the cover of this letter. If no change occurs, I will attend the Victim’s Hearing for the date and time scheduled in person for an oral submission in protest of the parole of inmate A762-809._

_I am the mother of one of the victims of inmate number A762-809, and I submit this victim impact letter to illustrate the events that brought inmate A762-809 into the penal system of the State of Washington, and to make my feelings known on this matter._

_My daughter was walking on the sidewalk beside Degnan Street when inmate number A762-809 accosted her. The mode of abduction was an attack from behind, with his hand over my daughter’s mouth and a knife held at her throat._

_After inmate A762-809 dragged my daughter down an alleyway while pulling her hair to restrain her, he struck her head on a dumpster. While still holding a knife to my daughter’s throat, inmate A762-809 threatened to cut it if she raised alarm or resisted his attack. After the assailant wrestled my daughter to the ground and attempted to remove her clothing in the attempt to commit the crime of rape, she challenged inmate A762-809 once more, and in the process wounded more._

_The attack of my daughter differs from the outcome of inmate A762-809 and his prior related attacks in that sexual assault did not occur, but she did incur numerous physical wounds during her struggle against him, with one so severe it required repeated treatments weeks after the assault. In addition, the damage was permanent._

_Added to the pain of physical trauma, in the time after the attack, my daughter suffered acute psychological damage, and diagnosed medically as being afflicted with posttraumatic stress disorder. As a result, my daughter suffered insomnia and nightmares for months after the attack, which took a toll on her equal to her physical injuries._

_My daughter required therapy to help her move past the painful experience of the cruel attack by inmate A762-809 in order to live with confidence once again._

_The form for writing this letter advises that if the victim cannot communicate, the impact of the inmate’s actions upon of family of the victim can suffice as illustration._

_Though our sufferings as parents pale in comparison to that of which our daughter sustained, there is no worse pain than having to witness your child sustain injury of any kind, especially the long-lasting effects inflicted without reason or instigation on their part, especially when it could have been prevented._

_The details of some of the inmate’s prior crimes are sealed because he was a minor when committed, but since his youth, inmate A762-809 has been in and out of punitive institutions in the states of Washington and Oregon since the age of twelve. As an adult, however, inmate A762-809 was released from prison in Washington State for his worst infractions to that date, which was drunkenness, aggravated assault, and indecent exposure in public._

_Less than two months later, inmate A762-809 violently assaulted four women sexually in the Tri-City area over a one-month period of time, my daughter, his fifth and last victim upon his apprehension by local law enforcement._

_Each time inmate A762-809 has been incarcerated then released from prison, his behaviors are not only recidivistic, but also increasingly violent. If released from this term of incarceration, he will almost certainly commit predatory crimes of a sexual nature again, or his actions could possibly escalate._

_He was ordered by the judge presiding over his trial to have psychological therapy over the period of his incarceration, but I fear that instead of being rehabilitated, inmate A762-809 has most likely learned not to leave a victim alive to testify against him during proceedings in a court of law. His actions and verbal threats in prior crimes illustrate his mindset, capability, and willingness to commit crimes that are more violent._

_As an example, inmate A762-809 threatened the lives of not only my daughter, husband, and me but also the other victims and their families who testified against him in open court in the presence of the trial judge and the jury during victim impact statements before sentencing. Those violent outbursts are public record and accessible via Hillwood City Criminal Court transcripts, case file 78-75643._

_I consider those threats valid, and I fear for the safety of the surviving victims and families of inmate A762-809 if released._

_Two victims of inmate A762-809 are now deceased, but I, along with the other victim’s families are serving as their voice so that this inmate’s actions, and the terrible impact he had on their lives, and those still alive, will not be forgotten. The other victims’ families and I beseech each of you, Your Honor, and the Board, to once more look into the records of inmate A762-809 and deny his eligibility for parole at this time._

_My motivations are not vengeful, I believe in second chances for those who deserve it, but in turn, there are crimes so heinous that they are unforgivable. The people who commit those crimes are incapable of change, remain a threat to society, and are therefore unworthy of liberty._

_Please spare other innocent citizens the agony, terror, anger, and heartbreak that inmate A762-809 has already unforgettably introduced into the lives of his remaining victims and their families by denying his parole at this time._

_Thank you for your time and considering this victim impact letter, Your Honor, and members of the Parole Hearing Board._

* * *

_Late August_

Turning once more in bed, the time was different than she remembered, so she’d gotten some sleep, and as she watched the alarm clock set for six thirty a.m. unerringly blink, dragging her closer to what she dreaded, she closed her eyes knowing she wouldn‘t go back to sleep again. Pulling the alarm clock down, she looked at the time, sighed, and then moved the bar on top to off so that the alarm wouldn’t go off and rouse her partner, as if he would hear it anyway.

In many ways, she envied his obliviousness to the world around him, because being inebriated meant he didn’t have to face anything that happened in the tedious monotony that had become the script of their lives.

He would be too hung over to go anyway, and be more of a hindrance to their cause than help.

A sick ritual they endured for years, this time it was even more special because they were all told to hope for the best, but expect the worst, so in the uhtceare of her thoughts, she had nothing to contemplate but the darkest of thoughts, because there was nothing else left for her to draw upon.

They could not, wouldn’t possibly allow what the attorneys prepared them for if all went badly. It was unthinkable; no justice system after a review of this case would see any other alternative, but it had to be an issue if they‘d been warned about it.

He shouldn’t be getting out to begin with.

In disgust, she got out of bed, yanked on a satin robe, went to the bathroom, and closed the door before turning on the light. Pulling the stopper down, she ran cold water into the sink with the intention of washing her face, but in the harsh glow of the bright bathroom light, her face clearly showed that cold water would not do any good. Splashing her face anyway, and then draining the sink, she moved the curtain of her shower to the side, pulling the faucet up to run water until it was hot and began pulling her clothing off.

Soon the mirror steamed, so she pulled the curtain aside, stepped into the shower and as the hot water ran down her head, face and then body; soon the tears came, just as they did every morning.

Why did she have to be so insistent, so demanding, and push so hard that it made her daughter feel compelled to hide?

Why couldn’t she be accepting?

Why couldn’t she just let the girl be, and let her do what she wanted?

It was never her daughter’s fault what happened, but hers, because she was unyielding and so goddamn selfish.

If she had been a better mother, she would have paid more attention, she would have realized that her child was not an extension of her, but a person in her own right with a rare and beautiful talent that offered a better future than the one she was determined she would have.

After what happened, many kids would have left and never bothered to speak to her again, but even then, she still forgave her, even though she did not deserve it.

What did she do years later?

She proved to be weak once more, because when her daughter needed her most, she let her down again, but she wasn’t going to this time.

Two hours later, the sun was just rising, and even though the courthouse didn’t open until nine o’clock, the parking deck was open, so she drove in and got the first space available. She wanted to be there early to meet their attorneys, or in case there was a change in time for the hearing, and it wasn’t as if there was anything else, because this had come to consume her.

In a few minutes, despite her best efforts, she started nodding off, and just as her head hit the back of the headrest of the silver car she sat in, there was a tap at the driver’s side window.

Jarred from her drowsiness, a tall man dressed in business black holding two cups of coffee in one hand, and a small bag of doughnuts in the other, smiled slightly. Walking around the back of the car, gingerly, he placed the items in his hands on the convertible top. Hearing the locks click, he opened the door, got in, and groped the top of the car for the items he stashed there and then shut the door. Handing a cup of coffee to the tired woman, she nodded thanks, but when he offered food, she politely declined.

Though they knew each other quite well and were friends, lately there was strain in their relationship, and neither one of them had much to say to the other for a couple of months, and then, in the grey darkness created by the tons of concrete surrounding them.

The benign estrangement was her fault, yet again, but at least they hadn’t exchanged hateful words with one another, and their separation for some odd reason felt like the right thing to do for the time being.

Studying him at first with glances, and then just staring, he was wearing concealing makeup on his face. It did a remarkably good job covering the bruises on his cheeks and nose, but the swollen areas on his face were obvious. After a few more moments of uncomfortable silence while looking at what would normally be his handsome features, she irreverently said, “You need to slow down some.” Eyeing the dark rings under his eyes, she ended, “You look like shit.”

He took the top off his steaming coffee, fogging the windshield slightly as he tore open and poured packet after packet of sugar into it. When satisfied his coffee was no longer coffee, but now thick, caffeinated syrup, he took a long drag out of the cup, and with the huge bite of half a glazed, jelly doughnut filling his mouth, he looked at the long-suffering woman. After regarding the dark circles underneath her eyes, the puffed face from crying, and the wrinkles that worry wore into it deeper than her years, he remarked, “You look like shit too.”

Despite the gloominess of the mood, and the reason why they were there, she laughed loudly. “You‘re a true gentleman.” She wryly observed, “I can see why you were such a hard habit to kick.”

Swallowing the oversized wad of sugar, dough, and grease in his mouth, it barely fitting down his throat, his response was a playful, “Well, you know how hard I try, and I am one hell of guy.”

She agreed. “Yes, you are.”

Pushing their cups together in an empty toast, they drank in solidarity, and when the coffee was gone, the gentle man held her hand until it was time to go inside and fight what both of them hoped wasn’t the inevitable.

Even though he wasn’t so sure, he said reassuringly, “It’s going to be okay.”

* * *

_Smith-Berman, Petersen and Associates Attorneys at Law_  
_1973 Prince Street_  
_Hillwood City, Washington 98104_  
_1-206-587-6500_

_Serving as your legal representation for court case number 78-75643, it is my duty to inform you of the results of the proceedings held by King County Court, Board of Corrections, the Board of Parole, and their final decision concerning this matter._

_After testimony given by the victims and their families at the last victim impact hearing, the prisoner interview before the Corrections and Parole Boards, and its findings considered, its recommendation is that prisoner number A762-809 be remanded to the King County Board of Parole for release._

_As you filled out a request of notification upon the parole of the prisoner in this case, by law, the State of Washington is legally required to send a letter to you and other concerned parties who requested, informing of the release date of the prisoner when arranged. As you have opted to communicate with the state by proxy of our office in this matter, the corrections board will mail the letter to our address in order to safeguard your confidentiality; and in turn, we will send a copy of the release date letter to your home address._

_Upon his release, inmate A762-809, Mr. Leno Dobbs, must remain a resident of King County, Washington State, for the period of one year. When the prescribed time has passed and he has completed the prerequisites given to him by the state, he will be free of correctional supervision._

_When released, Mr. Dobbs is required to report weekly to an officer of the King County Corrections Office for the period of one year. As conditions of his receiving parole will dictate, Mr. Dobbs must not have contact with any of his victims, the victims’ families, and find full time employment for the duration of his parole. Because of the severity and special nature of his offences, he is also required to continue psychological therapy begun while imprisoned and register with local law enforcement as a sex offender wherever he lives until the end of his natural life. In addition, Mr. Dobbs may not dwell within a half mile of any public school, public school transportation stop, near children, or obtain employment that involves any interaction with underage persons._

_Enclosed is a copy of the original victim impact statement written by you and filed with our office for mailing before the County Board of Parole victim’s hearing as we have retained the original for our records. Our records show that a copy of the release date letter for Mr. Dobbs was sent to you by our office in a previous mailing._

_Our office considers this matter closed, as we may no longer take any further legal action pertaining to this case as all avenues for the prevention of the release of the inmate are exhausted._

_The final bill for the last in office consultation and paperwork concerning the victims’ impact statements mailed in behalf of you and the other parties are waived._

_It was an honor serving you in this matter; we regret the outcome was not as anticipated, and hope you will find some degree of closure._

_We hope to continue serving your other legal needs._

_Thank you._

_Patricia Smith-Burman, Lila Petersen, and Associates._

* * *

_Early September_

Even though she found no humor, a wry, ironic chuckle escaped her tight throat.

Nine years of letters, meetings, and rightful protest culminated in this?

She had the last letter from their lawyer for a couple of weeks now, but it wasn’t crisp and neatly folded anymore, but heavily wrinkled and much worse for the wear after being read so many times in angry disbelief.

Ruminating over its crushing finality, it had taken this long for her to get over the shock that this injustice was real, and now, at that very moment, that sorry son of a bitch was roaming the streets of Hillwood City a free man.

When children lose parents, they are orphans.

When a woman loses her husband, she is a widow.

When a man loses his wife, he is a widower.

When a parent loses a child, no word exists because there is no word in any language that could define such pain.

As far as closure went, there was no such thing as that either.

Closure is a feel good, bullshit word.

Closure is a lie invented by politically correct, psycho-babble idiots to help people resign themselves to the idea that no matter what you do, how hard you try, or how much of your heart and soul is invested in the hope that everything will be okay because you are right, you still wind up getting fucked up the ass royally.

 _Closure_?

She was sure they meant well, but how dare they propose that disgusting word to her?

Revolted with the last patronizing line of the letter from the law office, most assuredly written by the bleeding heart as opposed to her more sensible partner who wanted to see Dobbs strangled with piano wire, she wringed both letters lengthwise in her hands, tightly balled them, and then flung them onto the floor as hard as she could muster.

How could anyone find peace, or find closure in an end as unfair as this?

As long as she drew breath into her body and her blood boiled with the mere thought of him, this was not over until she said it was.

With tears of fury brimming in her red eyes, there was not a curse invented yet that was filthy enough to describe him despite the years she spent trying to think of one.

With nothing to vent her hate on but the papers in her wrinkling hands, she fumed with the deadliest of sins as she reached to her side to pick up the balled papers, untwisted them, and then tore through them as though she was rending his wretched body. Not satisfied with that act of violence, she then threw the tattered shreds onto the floor in silence. In the moment of her unthinking fury, she contemplated setting them ablaze too, but then the carpet would most likely catch and then take the whole house with it.

No need to leave a bigger mess to clean up after than already planned.

Blankly staring at the ivory colored carpet with nothing but memories to occupy her, he could have pled guilty and spared them all more agony, but instead the bastard plead not guilty to all the charges that the detectives, the victims involved, his lawyer, and he damn well knew he was guilty of.

The first time she got a really good look at him was the first day of the trial, he limped into the courtroom with a swollen, bruised face, but all cleaned up and wearing a new suit and tie, the worst thing he wore, a sickening smile directed at all of them.

He even had the gall to raise his hand upwards to them in a false friendly gesture; one of his helpless victims broke into sobs then.

Before the proceedings, she made up her mind to do nothing that would interfere with the judicial process, but when he did that, she wanted to jump over the pew the press sat on and strangle him with her bare hands. If she interfered, all of their hard work would probably be set back yet another year, she‘d probably have been held in contempt of court and not allowed to attend proceedings too.

It was auspicious that he thought he was smart enough to get away with his sickening crimes though. Since he forced the system to go through its paces with a lengthy and expensive trial at the cost of the state, he received a longer sentence of time than he would have otherwise.

The trial was cruel torture, and for nearly four weeks, family and friends were forced to sit in silence in a hot, uncomfortably crowded courtroom to hear state’s evidence, and even worse, tear soaked, terror saturated accounts from the multiple victims of the barbaric brutality of the defendant.

Unable to disprove the state’s evidence of DNA that matched the defendant beyond doubt to his victims, she and the rest in attendance had to choke down the bile rising in their throats while listening to the defense’s psychology experts testified what a hard, deprived existence he led since he was a child.

Even more insulting, the defendant’s attorney spent a lengthy amount of time attempting to discredit the virtue of his victims, call into question their lifestyles and morality, and even implied that they were at fault for what they suffered in some way.

Accompli to his feeble bid for leniency, his court appointed attorney would have lead you to believe that Dobbs was merely an innocent, mistreated child getting his hand caught in the cookie jar.

The harsh reality though, was that Leno Dobbs is a misogynist who brutally raped five women, cut them with a knife multiple times, beat them within an inch of their lives, and then left them lying half-naked in a pool of their own blood when he was finished with them.

Psychologists would sympathize with Dobbs and make excuses for the horrible things he had done over the course of his life because of his formative years. It was yes, true that Dobbs did not have good parents and little to no guidance in his life during childhood, but there is also free will, and even the most despicable human being has a basic understanding of the differences between right and wrong.

Even a **dog** has sense enough to know when it has done something wrong.

To no one’s surprise, least of all hers, after exhaustive intelligence tests done by the state psychologist concluded, all evidence showed Leno Dobbs was not mentally deficient, and though his lawyer tried to spin the facts, he wasn’t insane either.

There is a difference between crazy and evil, crazy doesn’t know how to plan things out, but evil does.

Thankfully, after a four and a half week trial, and five hours deliberation by a jury that wasn’t swayed by the defense’s attempts, Dobbs was found guilty of all crimes he was accused of and taken off the streets for a short time.

The lives his incarceration saved, or the torments it prevented were speculative, but everyone involved felt that his punishment was not enough. After all was said and done, she and everyone else concerned were left to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives as best they could, and try to find a way to live with what he did.

If they could.

No punishment was enough as far as she was concerned.

If it were up to her, after the jury found him guilty they would have dragged poor Leno out of the courthouse by his heels while screaming for the mercy he never gave any of his victims. After they all beat the shit out of him, they would string him up by his neck at the nearest tree to fruitlessly kick his broken legs in the air and strangle until he died and went straight to hell.

And that was too good for him.

She was raised to believe that justice was blind, and through the impartiality of good men and women, it represented everyone equally. People who were innocent were not convicted, victims got justice, and the guilty were punished for their misdeeds accordingly.

It was a bitter lesson, but she learned was that a trial by jury was not meant to find justice for the victim, but leniency for the defendant instead, and in the long years between Dobbs’ crimes to that moment, all the people connected to his violence had lost something, sadly, some more than others.

Forced to settle for the little justice they did receive, the victims and their families pledged to do their best to make something good come of the ordeal they had lived through and worked together for years trying to keep the worthless monster in jail. Every time Dobbs had a parole hearing scheduled, they petitioned the court to deny Dobbs’ release so that no one else would suffer at his hand. Their efforts worked for a while, but all they really managed to do in the end was forestall his inevitable release.

They failed.

 _She_ failed.

Capable of battling his parole more aggressively where the others necessarily were not due to her connections, she spent more time than she could count writing letters to influential members of the legal community. She also padded palms with generous checks that contributed funds to judges, district attorneys, and other politicians for election campaigns, both openly, and when circumstances dictated, under the table anonymously with cash. Now she had nothing to show for her efforts except frustration, anger, and not that it really mattered, but one hell of a lawyer’s fee to pay.

She had known Patty Smith a long time, and helped put both she and Lila Sawyer through law school, so when all of this parole bullshit came along, both girls wanted all of the work they did for her and the related families on the case to be pro bono. It was a generous offer that would have saved thousands of dollars, but she paid all the fees herself for everyone for the past nine years despite their offer anyway, the last check for their services rendered sent last week.

What was money? She had plenty of it and it was nothing in comparison to what he had cost them.

It didn’t matter who had been hurt, who was dead, and who was left to deal with the pain and memories of what he did, it was never about justice, it always boiled down to money.

Money was the reason why Dobbs was getting out, King County Corrections system was overcrowded, and they were culling prisoners that they viewed as low risk to make room for people they thought were more of a threat to society.

Dear God, couldn’t they see that almost no one could possibly be worse than him?

She supposed it made complete sense to the legal system to cage some poor dumbass with caught with a little weed in their pocket instead of a violent multiple rapist.

As far as her own resources went, she found all the money she spent was worthless too, having as much value as the now shredded victim impact letter she wasted her time penning to send to court.

There was no recognized system in place to calculate the value of innocence, just as there was no way to appraise pain and balance anger.

As a sarcastic laugh escaped her throat, she supposed it was a good thing that Leno Dobbs was poor instead of wealthy. If he had been rich, he’d probably been found not guilty after his trial, received an apology from the state for the inconvenience of a trial, and gotten the key to Hillwood City for his services as scum of the earth.

She was loath to call the animal such, but after all their testimony, letters, and if they’d bothered to look at it, Dobbs’ record, how could the judge at the hearing and the people on the parole board not see what kind of person they were setting loose into the world? That he would never quit preying on people and hurting them? How he did not care about the pain and suffering he caused, and worse, how much he enjoyed inflicting it?

How much had he done that no one even knew about?

It couldn’t be proven, and evidence to such would be subjective, but how many lives had he destroyed?

One life in her opinion, because one of Dobbs’ victims committed suicide shortly before his case went to trial rather than face her attacker in court.

It all but destroyed her parents, but someone like Dobbs didn’t care, he had no idea what it was to create anything, the only thing he knew was destruction.

Because of his cowardly acts, a mother and father were missing their precious child, and the rest of his victims forced to live with the memories of what he did to them for the rest of their lives.

Where was the justice for that?

Now, Leno Dobbs was now free to live his life without a care in the world after destroying so many others’, the last great slap in the face.

The most disturbing part, and the worst, was that the local judicial and penal systems knew about Dobbs and his past offenses.

They knew they just didn’t give a damn.

Too little too late, all the red flags were there, they simply chose not to act until they were forced to, and now that Dobbs was released, he was free to do it all over again, perhaps something worse.

It wasn’t a question of if either, but when.

He was probably smart enough to lie low and cooperate by jumping through all the hoops the state devised to keep everyone “safe” from him, but just as soon as he was off the radar, probably living somewhere else, he’d start again, just as cruel, but a lot smarter.

That was just fine with her though, because in his ignorance, he forgot some things he should not have overlooked.

In the system, he was well protected, but outside, there were no bars, guards, walls, or laws that could protect him.

At least, not from her.

After throwing some wrinkled, yellowing newspaper articles and the manila folders that held them into the wastebasket at her side, she rose and walked over to two large, white and gold trimmed doors.

Turning on bright fluorescent lighting, she stepped into her closet, running her hands over the silky finery she now largely disregarded only to separate a small section from the middle.

Spreading her arms out to the sides to their full length, the overburdened wire hangers screeched on metal tubing as plastic coverings crinkled and a small, black door with a built-in combination lock and lever was exposed.

Spinning the dial, her long, red-painted fingernails lightly scraped the door as tumblers turned with a combination of numbers comprised of dates from happier times, and then, with the final spin, she pulled the lever on the door down to open it to reveal the treasures ensconced within.

Deeds to properties she didn’t give a damn about, heirloom jewelry that wouldn’t pass down the way intended, bronzed baby shoes, and the most poignant, a vertically stacked group of sticky, moldy, water-stained, unopened greeting cards in varying states of wrinkled decay simply addressed, Mom that spilled to the floor with her clumsy touch.

She had no right to have them, but could not return them, so gathering the cards in her hand; she walked over to the small trashcan. After holding the mildewed stack in her fingers, with some thought she could not bring herself to do it, so she walked back to the closet and placed them back.

Removing the diamond engagement and wedding rings from her left hand, she pulled out the well-worn violet and red felt boxes they came in. After replacing them for safekeeping, she stacked them to rest against the sidewall of the safe with a resolute finality.

Taking a deep breath, she reached to the very back of the safe and grabbed a purple velvet sachet by the pull strings. She so used to dragging it out because she had done it so many times, she forgot proper protocol, realizing that it was not safe to remove the object that way. Being more careful, she reached under the cloth bag until the weight was over the palm of her hand, and then took it from the safe.

Pulling the blued steel out of the bag to admire, she really had no clue why these things were so polarizing.

It was just an object like anything else until used, it just depended on who handled it, and the reason why.

She had no real thoughts on it for herself, it was just a means to an end, and she thought the only reason why men liked them so much was that gender roles prohibited them from carrying a nicely made handbag.

She did have to admit one thing about it as she pointed it at her reflection in the full-length mirror in front of her; it was the ultimate accessory and made any ensemble look good while proving a point.

Reaching into the safe one last time, she pulled out a silver-banded watch, the face cracked in two horizontally, but still faithfully keeping time within one thousandth of a second Greenwich Time as advertised for the eighty years the company had been in business.

Studying the beautiful, shiny watch, the second, minute, and hour hands slowly counted off the time until she could finally find “closure”, and after kissing the face, she snapped it onto her wrist knowing she wouldn‘t be alone, now that she finally had the courage to do what she should have weeks ago.

* * *

With a headache quickly brewing, she rubbed her tired eyes and raked her fingers through graying brown hair in frustration.

Normally, she wouldn’t even be here at this time of night, but she had a backlog of cases her teams were investigating and despite the fact she had gotten there at six in the morning, her day was only beginning.

Though it was cool outside, it was hot as blazes inside the small room because her small office and the un-insulated red brick wall outside faced the sun all day, but as a cacophony of discordant foghorns blowing from the docks overlooking the river barreled into the open window of her cluttered office. She wished she could put the window down, but then the heat would be damn near unbearable.

Resigning herself, Bridget sighed with one finger in the ear that faced it, wishing the men unloading cargo on the docks below would stop cursing because it was distracting her. They had already dropped the F bomb so many times in the space of a few minutes that she wondered if the union paid them by the hour to say it.

She wished she could shout down out the window and tell them to shut the fuck up herself, but technically, her organization didn’t exist, and she didn‘t exactly belong there either. As for the building, it was owned by a private party who duly paid taxes every year on time, but seemingly left it to rot, though once it was a warehouse for storing shipments of bananas that once suffered minor amounts of shrinkage by a member of Hillwood’s underground more shadowy than she.

As the foghorns ceased and the cursing became more elegant as a heavy crash and the sound of splintering wood carried in the air, the enduring detective impatiently tapped the chewed pink eraser of her lucky pencil on an opened manila folder already stained with a couple of dark coffee rings.

While a light, cool breeze rifled the edges of the envelopes, she pored over, the telltale scent of sewage was present, not from the river thank God, but this time from the papers she studied. She already wasted a week dissecting the information, but two and two were still adding up to five, and Bridget, who prided herself on being at least a competent detective, felt like a complete idiot.

There was something she was missing, a paper trail in her research, it had to be there somewhere, but it was beyond frustrating trying to find it. At the rate she was going, she wouldn’t mesh the gears of this enigma together any time too soon despite the fact that Mayor Gammelthorpe provided all the paperwork she requested.

He was not supposed to know the company even existed, and she wasn’t supposed to have access to the information the mayor gave her. With both of them in possession of enough evidence to send one another to jail, she figured that Mr. Gammelthorpe must be more distressed over the situation than he let on when he asked for her help, seeing as how unfailingly honest he was.

Desperate times called for unorthodox measures though, so grudgingly, through a trusted connection, Mayor Gammelthorpe asked her to investigate suspicions concerning one of the city’s employees, none other than the police chief. Even though her organization’s charter was helping the citizens of Hillwood City, which made her take this case to begin with, Bridget had qualms about aiding the mayor. Though no one outside the company knew that Monkeyman reported directly to her, Mayor Gammelthorpe’s policies against the vigilante, carried out by the city police, made her feel like a hypocrite even though her best agent knew who he was helping.

She should be concentrating on this matter and finding a way to pick through the trail of evidence in front of her to prove the mayor’s and her suspicions about Barber’s activities. The sooner she did that, the sooner she got rid of the mayor, but in the midst of this case, she became distracted by a problem weightier than this, one with the capability of shaking the very foundations of the organization to the core, possibly putting it to an end.

For one of the few times in her many years of working underground, Bridget had no idea how she was to handle this situation, but one thing was for sure, the destruction of the company wasn’t going to happen on her watch.

* * *

She had not officially worked undercover long, just since the beginning of summer, but from monitoring gang activity, to recently, an ongoing investigation concerning graft by a local government official, she had been on so many stakeouts she was beginning to feel like a flea clinging to the seedy underbelly of a dog named Hillwood City.

Given her relative inexperience in the field, the agent was not only surprised that she was repeatedly selected for such a delicate matter when more seasoned operatives were available, but also that this sector was her assignment to watch.

Accustomed to the confines of dusty, sweltering crawlspaces, unsafe rusting fire escapes, and stinking dumpsters while gathering evidence and awaiting orders, for a surprising change of pace her duties placed her atop a roof where most of the city’s affluent dwelled.

Taking her eyes away from the window across the street for a moment, taking in the last of the orange purple hues of sunset that languidly disappeared over the horizon, only then did she realize how late it was getting. Peeling the cuff of the lavender colored leather glove that covered her wrist forward to check the synchronized watch hidden underneath, it was nearing the time for her mandatory check in with headquarters. The chief usually called before she did, but she had a lot on her mind as of late and wondered if she forgot.

Donning her binoculars to peer inside the well appointed bedroom once more, like all of her other sentry duties, most of her missions were a study in tedium, punctuated by a few fleeting seconds of excitement or terror. As it was, the subject she watched all week usually departed from the domicile by then, but aside from one trip to the master bathroom and throwing away a pile of torn papers away, the person in question hadn’t moved from the middle of the floor of the bedroom in over two hours.

It didn’t look likely, but she hoped that the chief’s worst fears might be unrealized, at least for that evening, but the suspicious agent’s heart fell when the focus of the stakeout rose and then flung open the doors to a large room to enter as her communications device vibrated.

* * *

Cradling the phone on her shoulder, Bridget began gathering her things and then addressed her agent with a tone of hopeful doom decorating her voice. “How did it go today?”

Knowing all the details and feeling nothing but sympathy for her subject, the young agent replied, “The target has not left the address for the entire duration of the day but all indicators show that may change shortly.”

“The other?” Bridget wondered sadly.

Downstairs, the other person under scrutiny downed another short, cut crystal glass full of amber liquid and the agent replied with regret, “The same.”

With growing concern, knowing she wasn’t going to like the next answer any better than the first, Bridget wondered, “What’s happening upstairs?”

The agent strained her eyes, and noticed a bright yellow light shining around a large door in the otherwise dark room. “I may be reaching, but I do believe that she’s searching for a suitable ensemble for tonight.”

“Typical.” Bridget muttered as she rolled her eyes and massaged her smarting temples with her thumb and index fingers. Elevating her wrist to check the time, Bridget divulged her plans. “As soon as I get all my equipment gathered I‘m going to relieve you, and when I get there, you’re going directly to headquarters to await further instruction.” As she cradled the phone between her other shoulder and ear, Bridget began packing her equipment. “In the meantime, watch and notify me of all movements, especially if the target leaves the domicile.”

The agent answered, “Can do.” Pausing, the young girl suggested, “With your permission, I could tail the subject and then rendezvous with you at the secondary scene to provide backup. If things look really bad, we could call in,”

Bridget interrupted firmly advising, “No, no matter what happens, he is not to be involved whatsoever, and you’ve been out in the field without relief since early this morning. This mission is highly sensitive and I want to keep this between as few agents as I can.”

She was upset, but dutifully, the loyal agent confirmed, “Acknowledged.”

Hearing the disappointment in her response, Bridget’s tone changed. “You’ve gone above and beyond your duties concerning this case and I appreciate everything you’ve done to keep it secure.” Bridget acknowledged, “You’ve been invaluable on this mission, and you are the only other agent I can trust so completely in concerns for the good of the company.” Then Bridget got to the real reason for concern. “Besides, I don’t want you being anywhere near that section of town by yourself for any length of time.” The young agent smiled as she rolled her eyes. “It would worry me to death.”

Understanding the chief‘s mindset, the girl replied warmly, “I know that you worry about something happening to me, mom, but I’m a big girl now, and I can take care of myself. Heck, I‘ve been tailing people since I was ten.” After hearing her mother’s harsh sigh, she then reasoned, “I know you have more experience in matters such as these than I do, and I also know that you can’t protect the target while concerned for my safety, so I’ll go back to headquarters, promise.”

Grateful that her strong willed daughter acquiesced without an argument for once, which surprised the hell out of her, with a sigh of relief, Bridget wondered, “Has anything else of interest happened?”

The young agent paused in thought for a moment and then volunteered, “Well, a pigeon pooped on my beret this afternoon.” The young woman removed the lavender colored woolen cap from her head and examined the chalky white spot. “I used a couple of napkins I got from Shrunkin’ Doughnuts to wipe it off, but it didn’t come completely out and now there are paper lint streaks on it too.”

Bridget burst into laughter. “The company will cover the cost of dry cleaning for you.”

After a brief shared chuckle, then silence, Bridget found herself struggling for something more about the situation to state, but fortunately, her wise daughter knew exactly what to say instead. “Look, I know that you’re really worried about all of this, but it’ll all turn out okay, it always does. You’ve been in way tougher spots than this and you always do what’s right while protecting everyone‘s interests.” Confidently she ended, “You do have a perfect track record.”

Thinking of all the mistakes she had made over the course of her career as Hillwood’s weapons specialist, Bridget laughed with ironic doubt and a nod of her head backwards. “So sayeth the apostle Rachel.”

The young woman announced with the utmost of confidence, “I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t so, Chief.”

Bridget optimistically offered, “I hope I’m still on a roll.”

With utmost confidence, Rachel added with style, “I always bet on black.”

Rolling her eyes with a sigh, Bridget admonished dryly, “What have I _told_ you about quoting Fuzzy Slippers?”

Instead of a snappy comeback, Rachel informed with a serious tone decorating her voice, “The garage door is opening and the target is now on the move. She is driving the usual vehicle and is now moving west on Market.”

Bridget fumbled in her pocket for a small black electronic device, and after finding it, she flipped the face upwards on it, flicked a switch, and the screen lit with a black background. “I’m synching with your tracker now.” As a tone chimed, green lines that indicated streets popped up, and a red dot representing the vehicle she tracked moved. Rising from her desk donning a well-worn black leather jacket, Bridget announced, “May I say once again what a good job you did planting a tracker on all the cars in their locked garage?” The girl on the other end smiled with pride as her mother added, “I have her now.” Finding the keys to her car and grabbing a pre-packed duffel bag full of essential equipment, the chief advised, “I’ll contact you later, just as soon as I know something.”

Worried for the safety of her mother, Rachel exhorted as she might, “Be careful, _okay_? If you need help, just call.”

Bridget responded humorously, “Now, who’s the mom here?” Then as a rushed mother who might be on the way out the door to a PTA meeting instead of the deadly serious affair that awaited her, Bridget casually added, “By the way, when you get in, there’s cheese ravioli from Vincenzo’s in the refrigerator waiting for you.” She checked her watch and then the tracker. “The garlic bread is a little soggy, but all you need to do is put it in the toaster oven for a few minutes.” As she got into the car and closed the door, Bridget bade her most valuable agent a final farewell as a roar issued from her exhaust. “I gotta’ roll, I’ll see you later, Kiddo.”

Rachel ended, “I won’t say good luck because you won’t need it.”

The call disconnected and Rachel sighed, because even though her mother was the best in the business, she was still worried.

If she couldn’t pull this off and the target did something stupid, like stacked dominoes, the company would topple exposing the entire network and their activities, and after that happened most of them were going to wind up underneath the jail.

Especially Monkeyman.

* * *

Plugging her tracker into a laptop computer in her car, Bridget started it and tore down the alleyway to the main street, streaking towards one of the worst sections of Hillwood city in order to get there before her target and set up.

Even though they fought for the common citizen and tried to do some good in the world, Bridget tempered those well-meaning sentiments with the realization that at the end of the day, they were still only criminals themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Arnold was created by Craig Bartlett, and is owned by Viacom Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from the song Poor Leno, written by Erlend Øye, performed by Röyksopp, and is found on their album Melody A.M. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred. 
> 
> Please forgive me for the reference to sexual assault in this chapter. I truly am sorry, but it is important to the story, additional chapters and related fics.
> 
> Also, don't call that phone number unless you have a craving for seafood.


	10. Lailove

Wishing he could say that he removed trivial annoyances like physical pain from his notice through rigorous training and meditation, Monkeyman found instead that his leg hurt and it hurt a _lot_.

Standing safely on the roof of the building he just mounted, the vigilante reluctantly pulled back the punctured clothing that covered his muscular thigh and examined his latest wound.

While on patrol, Monkeyman carried a tracker so that his support team would know his exact location in the city at all times, and as an additional feature, it also had a panic button so if a situation warranted immediate backup he could press it. He wondered if he should request extraction, but after a few moments of gathering himself and a better look at his injury, denial convinced him the damage looked worse than it really was.

Queasy at the sight of it anyway, he unclasped the bandolier that held all his supplies from over his shoulder and started picking objects out of it, and soon everything he toted around nightly was strewn all over the rooftop in an unorganized heap.

There was an extra cowl, puncture proof gloves, binoculars, plastic handcuffs, a lock picking kit, and an electronic listening device in one pouch. In another there was a glass punch, a communicator with untraceable wireless internet capabilities, a collapsible baton he never used, a length of thin, five hundred pound test carbon fiber rope complete with grappling hook, a wrist launcher for the rope, a can of pepper spray, and one oatmeal fiber bar because even Monkeyman gets hungry sometimes.

Of course, he would rather have a couple of sinfully gooey, caramel laden, chocolate coated, sugar infused Kid Bars as his midnight patrol snack, but his cholesterol was a little high his last checkup. Bridget, his veterinarian, and gynecologist were complaining about his high sugar intake more frequently as of late too.

Even he couldn‘t hope to defeat the evils of three nagging women ganging up on him en masse, so he gave in and at least tried to have the appearance of taking better care of himself.

Emptying the last of his supply belt and shaking it with hope against hope only to find it empty, could someone please tell him how in the world he forgot his first aid kit?

Convenient it was missing because he needed it now; he examined his wound and discovered it got more disgusting by the moment as the first two sections of his index finger fit inside the hole perfectly. Added to that, he was bleeding badly as blood had fallen on the roof below him, enough to make a tiny, quickly clotting puddle.

Groaning at his absentmindedness, the pained man pushed a clean, freshly spun, lightly bunched spider web he found in a window partially into his stabbed thigh to staunch the bleeding.

That outdoors survival course really paid off because he never knew spider webs were hypo-allergenic and could be absorbed by the human body until he took it. As such, he wondered how much money the organization wasted on bandages for him when he could have been using spider webs all along.

It was a shame they weren't radioactive, because if he got powers from the webs, he could do an even better job protecting Hillwood City.

Taking a last look at his leg, then over the ledge of the rooftop, one thing was certain, after he took care of a situation that might be unfolding on the street below, he had seek out his friend and have her suture his thigh closed.

Unlike a normal civilian, he didn't have the luxury of going to Hillwood Memorial Hospital’s emergency room or the Drymon Medical Clinic for treatment because he would have to explain the mode of injury to the medical staff. Afterwards there might be unwanted questions and then police involvement so that was out, but he wasn't about to try to sew himself up either.

Monkeyman knew that he would puke, pass out, or do both at the same time, besides, going to his independent medical source had fringe benefits that the hospital didn't.

He knew that if he acted pitiful enough, the good doctor might make him a little coffee, and give him a slice of one of her delicious pies, a warm cookie, or something to go with it as she stitched him together.

A guy could hope, couldn't he?

What the masked man really hoped for was that she had some lidocaine at her house, true, he had taken emergency stitches without numbing before, but he preferred not for obvious reasons.

At least she was a doctor, a private joke the two of them shared.

With a frustrated sigh, he thought it was the most overused line in every action movie ever written for an actor over the age of forty, but Monkeyman wondered if he was indeed getting too old for this shit.

That matter put aside for the moment and ignoring the pain, Monkeyman carefully gauged his distance, ran, and leapt across an unforgiving space between two roofs to safety so he could watch a solitary woman walk up a dark sidewalk.

Statuesque, she was wearing a long flowing floral patterned dress accentuated by a wide brimmed hat; and a pair of extremely high heels. To finish her tasteful ensemble, the lady was also carrying a purse so large that it could be the portal to another dimension, but there was something different about how she carried herself that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He was fully apprised of her situation, but the lady below was unaware that she had a less than gentlemanly escort following, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Unfortunately, the criminal was jittery and nervous, and it would sound implausible to a novice, but Monkeyman wished his collar was a more experienced thief. Often, green criminals were insecure and a mugging could easily turn something much worse, and even though he couldn't see a weapon on his mark, that didn't mean he didn't have one.

As the hidden vigilante studied his cowardly prey, the best case scenario was that he was just a purse snatching ruffian looking for an easy, inattentive victim. The worst case imaginable was that the crook had more violent ideas, but fortunately for her, Monkeyman followed, wondering if the villain was going to work up the nerve to attack.

Monkeyman didn't have long to question though, as the young man finally jumped up from his crouch, ran in behind the woman and snatched her purse, tugging her shoulder along with it.

Before Monkeyman could swing down to the sidewalk via a fire escape, he observed with surprise that the skinny criminal sprang back into the woman he intended to victimize like a rowboat using a bungee cord to tow Mount Everest.

Running to aid her, him and the purse snatcher froze in their tracks when the tall, two hundred pound mound of muscle in a dress yelled in a deep masculine voice full or righteous indignation, "You better step off!"

The hero could do nothing but watch as what he thought was a woman swing his massive arm back behind his head and began to beat the cowering mugger with his handbag while teaching a much needed lesson about manners. "You never touch a lady's purse!" The would be victim howled in righteous indignation as he shook the mugger by the back of his coat like a rag doll, and forced the little finger of his right hand into the thief’s face. “Just look at that! You made me break a nail!” As the mugger fell to the ground with a well placed uppercut, he informed, “I just had them done today!”

The mugger crawled backwards away from the indignant feminine imposter, but still, she managed to give chase while striking him, wearing stiletto heeled boots no less, and Monkeyman wondered if he should help, but was in a quandary about which party it should be; the mugger or the cross dresser.

Hearing the indignant cry of a woman further wronged by getting a run in her stockings, if he were a betting man, Monkeyman would have aided the mugger because the angry lady with a little something extra was winning this one sided altercation.

After final observation, the snatch and grab artist was running away from his victim screaming for help, so Monkeyman decided to leave well enough alone seeing as the victim could easily hold her own. While leaning on the corner of a building, it was all he could do to keep from falling to the pavement as he laughed like a maniac while feeling sorry for the mugger.

Goodness knows Rhonda would have completely pissed herself laughing, and would probably help the cross dresser get her revenge on principle just because of the broken fingernail.

Granted, he had seen numerous things that the word odd wouldn’t accurately describe over his tenure as the Monkeyman, and this spectacle was one of the greatest he had seen for awhile, but not the best of all time.

That honor went towards the beautiful woman always on his mind, and his greatest benefactor.

Hell, she was even gracious enough to allow him to participate.

A few years ago, simply to antagonize the mayor for putting such a pittance of a price on his head along with the added bonus of aggravating his old friend, Monkeyman snatched Rhonda’s hat clean off of the top of her head in front of a troop of Campfire Lasses during a televised speech about women’s empowerment downtown.

To the first lady’s credit, Mrs. Gammelthorpe practiced what she preached, refusing to stand for his impish behavior as she bounded off of the podium to give chase while swinging a blazing red, fully-loaded patent leather purse with a gold chain for a strap at him.

To his surprise, Rhonda actually kept up with him for a couple hundred feet until one of her heels broke, turning her quick sprint into a slow, limping gait abetted by mild profanity and a threat to make the handbag she carried a painfully permanent part of his anatomy.

After a quick scramble up a telephone pole and a jump over to the awning of Holly’s Chocolates, the swashbuckler donned Mrs. Gammelthorpe’s wide brimmed hat, welcomed her to Sherwood Forest as Robin Hood might have, and then threw her oversized frippery back after blowing a kiss.

Amused at the way she fumed while unable to reach him, and having never learned when to quit while he was ahead, the devious buccaneer chivalrously suggested turning himself in to the authorities for his wrongdoings on Rhonda‘s behalf. Monkeyman promised he would donate the bounty on his head so she could buy a new wardrobe, seeing her cheap husband didn’t seem bothered that she wore poorly made footwear, an extremely tacky hat, and carried a handbag that a colorblind pimp wouldn’t seen dead with.

His long search at a triumphant end, to his unbridled delight, Monkeyman found that the word tacky in description of Rhonda’s idea of impeccable taste was the one insult that finally managed to piss her off beyond the point of any control.

He laughed heartily at her expense, but true to form, Mrs. Gammelthorpe had the last word, though it was silent.

Even he couldn‘t believe it when she threw her damaged shoe at him and nailed his bottom as he swung away from the police that were closing in, much to the entertainment of the press and all the young Campfire Lasses who followed.

He had a huge bruise on his backside for weeks and his little stunt backfired miserably, because by proxy of his headstrong wife, the mayor’s approval rating shot through the roof.

In the end it was worth it, because getting Rhonda’s goat over the years, though at times painful, was one of the things he had to look forward to.

Simply being in her presence was a privilege, and he treasured the memories of all those crazy, glorious nights eating cold hot dogs, drinking warm, flat soda, and ambushing ne’er do wells while darting across city rooftops with the raven haired beauty.

The smile disappeared from his lips.

She was gone now though, gone forever, and perched upon a balcony so high that even he couldn‘t scale it to reach her.

Heaving a heavy sigh, the winded man leaned his back on a still warm brick face and stripped off his mask to inhale the cool night air, gazing upon the full, moonlit sky that once belonged only to them.

Swiping hot dampness from his cheeks, Monkeyman sniffed and blinked his stinging eyes while rubbing under his nose. Limping towards another fire escape, he pulled the damp mask back down over his face, and with two arms and one leg he pulled himself up over the access steps of the fire escape to slowly make his way towards the aid that he desperately needed.

* * *

While she felt her pulse beat in her hands, fingers, and around the skin of her stinging forearm, the troubled woman distracted herself by trying to not be so curious about the inbox of her best friend while sitting in her home office and study.

Knowing the business because of her brother, she noticed several messages from whom she could only assume were from drug representatives looking to boost sales in their district. It also seemed from the amount of freebie giveaways like pens, pads of paper conveniently printed with product names, coffee cups, shot glasses, mouse pads, and compact disc wallets with drug companies embroidered on them, they had been courting Phoebe heavily because none of it was from Gerald's company.

As Timberly scanned further down on the inbox list subjects, there was a message from an anesthetist from Hillwood Memorial asking if she would like to join the Saddle Block bicycling team, and the last mail was titled, THIS ISN’T SPAM! Help, Doc San!, but before she could see who had sent such a desperate looking e-mail, the patient's curiosity was interrupted. "Here we go, Mrs. Mac Thomas." Doctor Johannsen added with a professional air but friendly wink, "I'm glad that I checked this for you."

Phoebe added cautiously, "Your blood pressure is a little high, 'Tim, but not so much that it is unsafe.” She placed the back of her hand and fingers on her forehead, then cheek. “That would explain the fluctuation in your body temperature and some of the swelling issues you're experiencing in your legs and feet right now." The doctor wisely recommended, "I think that you should go put your feet back up for a little while again."

Phoebe twisted the cold, round ridged metal end of a small rubber bulb, releasing the pressure of the cuff with a relieving hiss as she handed the woman she adored a full bottle of cold water to drink. "You know how much I love salt, and I'm being a complete and total hypocrite here, but you might want to abstain from eating any more potato chips for the rest of the evening because of the sodium content as well."

Timberly looked upwards with an abashed grin, and removed her fingers from a large yellow plastic bowl filled with the crunchy craving she had been nursing all evening. "I know." She said with some shame at her lack of self control, "I've been eating these like a beast all night. I threw Jamie-O’s boys under the bus and blamed them for most of the chip consumption when you sent Kyo after some more this afternoon."

“No shame in that.” Phoebe placed a gentle hand on her sister in law's shoulder. "It’s to be expected because of cravings and you are eating for three.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Believe me; I know what it's like." She empathetically comforted, "When I was in my third, all I wanted to do was eat and my cravings always swung towards either sweet or salty, just like yours are now." Phoebe motioned her head towards the bowl of potato chips. "My poisons, if you'll remember, were double stack pancakes with extra syrup, or sushi with enough soy sauce on it to make the rice look like New York snow."

Timberly joked, "With wasabi?"

Phoebe shook her head with a smile. "You know very well that I haven't thought of touching wasabi since that fateful night."

Both women enjoyed the hilariously bittersweet memory of a sneeze gone horribly wrong as they laughed. The brief moment of bliss was forgotten as Timberly's eyes fell and she sighed. "I know it’s easier to say rather than to do, but you need to relax. That's another reason why your blood pressure is up." Phoebe grasped Timberly's hand gently and looked her straight in the eye finishing the conversation started that afternoon that was interrupted by young JJ. "I know that you are worried, but you don't have to have anything to do with him if you don't want to."

Timberly sighed. "I always will be involved with him in some way or another because of JJ, and he'll never let that go." The thoughtful woman shook her head. "Not that he should." Timberly added cautiously, "JJ wants to see his daddy too and if Scott will act decent, I want him to be a part of his life." Timberly felt ashamed when she said, "I’m trying not to judge him, Phoebe, and everyone deserves a second chance for redemption, but I know what he's capable of. I don‘t know if I can ever trust him again.” Torn, and with exasperation, Timberly ended, “I'm afraid that if I let him see JJ, Scott will lose his patience if he acts up or does the things kids do, and hurt him in a moment of anger."

Timberly became more visibly upset as Phoebe placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "'Tim, it isn’t judgment for you to use discretion, and you have nothing but prior experience to go on to judge how he will act.” Phoebe gave the woman a look. "You have more than a right to feel the way you do towards Scott in regards to his behavior and how he treated you.” Phoebe despised Timberly’s ex husband with a passion but she tried not to sound leading or hateful when she ended, “I'd be worried if you did trust him right off the bat."

Timberly sighed and rubbed her left arm unconsciously, nursing an old break that had long since healed, but the emotional scars still remained. "I thank God that JJ is too little to remember, but he doesn't know what kind of man his father was, and what he would do." Her eyes began to flood with the memories of not only the verbal abuse she suffered, but also the bruised cheeks, black eyes, broken bones, cracked teeth, sore strangled necks, and the absolute terror she lived in under the reign of the man she would never love again, but still feared.

There were plenty of times she wondered if he would lose complete control of his temper, and simply kill her.

Phoebe gave Timberly a tissue to dab with as she held her shaking hand. "I've never told JJ any of that, or the real truth about where his father is either." Distraught, she wiped her eyes. "When he asks, I always tell him his daddy is away, but that answer isn’t satisfying him like it did." The woman looked away feeling extremely guilty. "He thinks his father is on some kind of vacation instead of in prison." Timberly put her hand on her forehead. "I hate lying to my child, but how do you explain something like that to a little kid without getting into details?" Timberly sighed, "I just don't want to tell JJ about anything that happened between me and Scott until he's old enough to understand and can make his own decisions about his father."

Phoebe listened intently, waiting for the appropriate moment to interject. "The letter I got today from the state said that Scott's parole is in a month and the conditions of it say nothing about supervised visits, or anything of the sort. He‘s been a model prisoner while he‘s been in jail, and that’s why they’re releasing him early." Phoebe could understand the feelings that Timberly had in concerns of hope for the future, but didn’t like the fear in her eyes. "Through his lawyer, Scott has already asked to visit JJ, but I haven't answered him yet. He said that he‘s had the anger management therapy he needs and that he wants to make amends." She closed her eyes as tears streamed down her cheeks. "I haven't even talked with John to tell him that Scott is getting out yet and I don‘t know how he’s going to react when I do. I didn't want to trouble him with it at work, and I certainly don't want JJ to hear the conversation at home." Timberly said with caution, "Scott said that he's a changed man, and I really want to believe that, but I'm still scared of him."

Phoebe nodded, "You've got every right not to trust Scott and be concerned for JJ's and your own safety that must come first before anything else. If he‘s reformed as much as he says he has, he‘ll wait for as long as you need before you make your decision." Phoebe highly doubted her ex brother in law’s miraculous transformation for the better and if it were up to her; Timberly's ex-husband would never see the light of day again. "This entire situation puts you in a terrible position, but I have to tell you how much I admire you for never saying anything bad about Scott in front of JJ. It takes a lot of strength not to do that, and I am just in awe of it."

Timberly said bitterly, "It's not because there haven’t been lack of examples." She said with a small smile thinking of the wonderful man in her life now. "John has been so supportive. I don't know of many men who would have taken on the mess that I was in when we met, and I am so lucky to have him." Timberly looked down. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be complaining about this to you at all, Phoebes."

Phoebe took Timberly into her arms, hugging her tightly. "You can talk with me about anything you want as long as you want, and John is lucky to have you." Timberly thought gratefully of the good man who she loved more than words could ever describe, not only for the way he treated her, but also for the kindness that he treated her son with, he was more of a father to JJ than Scott ever thought of being. Phoebe said genuinely, "You know that we are all here to help you if we can. Jamie-O, Gerald, Arnold, Helga, and Thad; we all are here for you, you know that don't you?"

Timberly nodded with her head hung low, still feeling guilty for what she had brought into her family without thinking.

Phoebe said with a comforting tone and a loving pat on her shoulder, "Then don't you worry about a thing, 'Tim, everything will be okay, you'll see." She said with confidence as she smiled, and lovingly brushed her friend's tight stomach with it, "The only thing you need to worry about is next month, when you'll be a mommy two times over again."

Looking to help in some small way, Phoebe took both of Timberly's hands into hers and made a generous offer. "You know, 'Tim, JJ has his naptime pajamas here, and I can wash his clothes, so how about you let him stay here for the weekend so that you can have a little rest?” Cautiously, Phoebe added, “It could also give you and John some time to talk about the things you need to, and you won't have to worry about being overheard." Phoebe said with consideration, "You could use a little break anyway, couldn't you?"

Timberly doubtfully shook her head, "That's an awful lot of trouble for you and Gerald, ‘Phoebes."

Phoebe smiled and dismissed Timberly's polite rejection of her idea with a wave of the hand. “Nonsense, Gerald and I just adore JJ, and he's no trouble at all!" The tiny woman grinned, "It will be fun to have a young child around the house for a couple of days.” Phoebe added cheerfully, “Besides, it will be practice for when you have to go to the hospital and it’s our turn to help look after him.” Brightly she ended, “It's been a long time since Gerald and I have had someone as little as JJ around, it will be fun!"

Knowing that it would be a perfect opportunity for her and her husband to talk about an extremely unpleasant subject freely, Timberly wondered, "Are you sure?" When Phoebe nodded positively, she admitted, "Well, it would help me talk to John without worrying, and JJ would just love that, he's just crazy about his Aunt Phoebe, Uncle Gerald, and cousin Kyo you know."

"Then it's settled." Phoebe patted Timberly’s leg lightly and was relieved when the worried frown on her face was replaced with a smile.

Timberly exhaled a breath through her pursed lips and rubbed her broad stomach with a happier change of subject. "I know one thing, I sure will be glad when these boys are due, I'm tired of,"

The partially relieved woman was interrupted by a familiar deep voice. "What are you two lovely young ladies doing off alone? Gossiping?" John said cheerily with a mischievous tone while poking his head inside the door of the study as JJ held onto his stepfather's broad white neck with one arm, and playfully tugged his black hair with his free hand. The man cast a wary eye over his wife noticing her emotional state, and then gathered the little boy from his back to place gently onto the floor, stepping forward with concern as he gently placed JJ down on his feet to the floor. "You okay, 'Tim? You're not sick are you?"

Timberly glossed over her response, "I'm fine, Sweetie, we were just having a little girl chat."

Phoebe rose and touched JJ’s tiny nose with her index finger and asked an already answered question, "So tell me, JJ, how would you like to stay here with us for a couple of days?"

Needing no other invitation, JJ jumped upwards yelling, "YAHOO!" and hugged her leg as John gave Timberly an odd look, but was then interrupted by his brother in law, Gerald, with a playful slap on the back which turned into a series of light wrestling holds.

While male bonding occurred, Phoebe couldn't help but smile and lovingly caress JJ's sweet face with her gentle hand. While it was true that she loved all children, Phoebe had fallen especially hard for her nephew, and once done hugging his favorite aunt, JJ ran back to his mother.

As Gerald and John cranked up about some nonsense and JJ cuddled in what was sparse lap space, Timberly stroked her hand over her son’s head and smiled at her family warmly, grateful for them all.

They got her through the worst times of her life, and let her share in the best.

* * *

As she thought about many things, the relative silence of the cockpit of her car did not go unnoticed. Usually she would be listening to something from the seventies, but not now because the car wasn’t running right, and had to listen for mechanical problems instead.

Her favorite decade, there was something about music from the seventies that Courtney really liked. It could have been that it was the last gasp of the true top forty hit station where one could hear funk, soul, rock, pop, and disco all in one place. Perhaps it was the sexually insinuated lines in certain song lyrics that one had to ponder before enjoying an immature snicker instead of having it conveniently spelled out for the listener in graphic detail like today.

At least she could understand most of what the singers were saying in the old songs.

At any rate, the only thing the girl could to listen to at the moment was the low rumble of a rattling exhaust that she had fixed with a hammer, a block of wood, an awkwardly positioned pushing leg and foot; and a horrible amount of profanity Consuela promptly censured her for using.

Added to that lovely music, was the beautiful harmony of what might be a cylinder trying to skip, along with the rattle of a window that she wondered would eventually shake so badly that it would break. She meant to put bumpers in the doors to cushion the glass and quell the chatter, unfortunately, Courtney found that keeping her “classic” simply running was a daunting task in itself, much less undertaking the cosmetic aspects of her partial do it yourself restoration.

While enjoying the cacophony of unpleasant sounds that were portents of repairs she might not be able to do to come, all Courtney could think about was how foolish she was for peeling out of her parking spot in front of Slausen's like a driver leaving pit row during Le Mans.

The first was that Miles was smiling at her rather sweetly as he walked towards her. Granted, Miles smiling at her wasn't out of the ordinary, but it was one of the few times that she had ever seen it when it wasn't filled with sarcasm or malice.

With a blush, she also had to think how cute he looked trying to fix his wild hair before approaching and how his handsome blue eyes seemed brighter than they were that afternoon. He actually seemed to be delighted to see her despite the way she’d treated him, at least he appeared to be, but the poor boy's face was so swollen it was kind of hard to tell.

She mentally rebuked herself for not staying to ask how he was, thank him for returning her most cherished belonging, and ask if she could do something for him in return for the kind boon.

That would have been a wonderful starting place to talk to him, apologize for the horridly foul things she said and done to him and then perhaps she could have weaseled into the topic of whether or not all the things that he wrote in his letter were true, especially the parts in it about being in love with her.

If Miles had indicated positively and she didn't act her usual stupid, Courtney was sure that she could have at least gained a friend, or maybe gone a step further and had something a little more interesting by the end of the evening.

She couldn't do that though, oh no, instead, she chose to act a coward and run from him like a complete and total idiot maniac.

Even worse, she remembered her last glance in the rear view mirror and seeing the completely pitiful look adorning Miles’ face.

True, he had a ton of issues, but Miles did get hurt and into a lot of trouble helping her that morning, and then after all of that, gave all her belongings back to her, including the pullover she thought she’d never see again all in the effort of trying to redeem himself in her eyes.

No matter how much she tried to deny and complicate it in her mind, ultimately she knew Miles didn’t do that for anyone else but her, either.

What did she do? All she gave him in return was an ungrateful cloud of smoke and tire dust to wave away from his poor beaten face.

Before Courtney could contemplate any further on her earlier folly and the resultant shame she felt, the second reason why she was regretful of her actions that evening, was because she swore she could smell raw gas coming from somewhere in the vehicle.

Running through a list of half-assed repairs she had done on the car herself armed with a mechanic’s manual and a Saint Christopher medal, Courtney knew the new fuel lines in top of the tank to alleviate a fuel leak couldn‘t have already come undone, so it couldn't be that. If there was a fuel line leak under the hood, she would be a complete ball of flames by then. With the evidence presented, Courtney surmised that most likely, the car ran rich since the day she got it running again, so she figured that it had to be over fueling again.

Just as she diagnosed what the trouble with her vehicle was, the rough rumble of the three fifty engine and cobbled together exhaust system came to a halt, only to be replaced with an eerie, unwanted silence and hard steering. "No, no, no!" Courtney yelled in panic through gritted teeth as she saw the last thing she wanted that evening, the square idiot light labeled GEN in the upper right hand corner of the instrument cluster, glowing with red, spiteful anger. "Oh, God, Tracks, please don't do this to me! Not now!"

After a quick check of gauges, there was the comforting glow of the greenish instruments showing her a dead tachometer and quickly dropping speed so she knew it wasn't the battery, but that didn't mean that she was going to get the car started again.

Still rolling at a quasi-decent speed, but steadily slowing down, the shocked girl pushed the stick into neutral, jiggled it to make sure that it was in the proper position or else the ignition system wouldn’t work and tried to make the engine turn over as she struggled to turn the hard wheel of a now un-powered steering system.

After two tries, Courtney gave up on starting the car and concentrated on steering to the side of the road to get it into a safer spot. When satisfied she wasn't too far over in the thoroughfare, with a growl, Courtney applied her sluggish brakes, and when fully stopped, she slammed the stick from neutral, past reverse; and into park. Turning off the headlights, she tried to start the engine one more time as she checked her gauges and went through a mental checklist of repairs she’d recently done.

She replaced the electronic control module, rotor button, condenser, and magnetic pickup in the distributor a month ago, surely those hadn’t worn out yet. There was charge registering on the battery, and the starter was turning over, but despite her efforts, there was no offer on the motor's part to attempt to catch, so it had to be flooded.

With a sigh, she tried one last trick the auto shop teacher at Hillwood taught her and turned the ignition while flooring the accelerator in the hopes that the engine would turn over.

Despite the dire prayers, theatrical pleading, and coarse profanity that she poured into the act, it was all for naught, because the motor, if flooded before, was hopelessly so now, and there was no safe way for her to attempt to start the car.

As a result, the defeated girl sat in the vehicle for a few moments thinking, and realized that if she had done so earlier, she wouldn't be sitting on the side of the road then.

She should have taken into consideration that it was cold after the sun went down, that the humidity level was a little higher than usual, and she neglected to allow the car to warm up properly before leaving work. The carburetor was already over-fueling to begin with, so with her additional stop at the ice cream parlor, and romping on the gas with her stupid take off from there; it was a wonder the car made it as far as it did before stopping altogether.

Conceding bitter defeat with a sigh that was no longer angry with the automobile, but with herself, she turned the ignition on one last time to roll her windows up. After putting the T-tops back on, and making sure she had her keys, before locking the doors, Courtney gathered up the two half gallons of melting ice cream that was quickly becoming soup and her purse. After slamming the doors in frustration, and satisfied for one last time that the car was locked, the track star took off in a run towards the Johannsen house, grateful that it wasn't too far away.

"George Carlin was right." Courtney sardonically mused as she tried not to give into the natural urge to swing her right arm as she ran, "You never see a smiling runner."

* * *

Meanwhile, in the Hall of Justice….

A weighty topic of great importance was being discussed, and in the course of its serious nature, no holds were being barred.

Gertie pronounced with a heavy, exasperated sigh, "Nice try, Kyo, but there's no way that could happen.” She flung her arms upwards, punctuating her point. “It’s impossible!"

Kyo sighed harshly, unable to believe that Gertie was actually trying to argue about this of all obvious things. "In the world of comics, nothing is impossible, so just admit that you’ve lost and give up for once! Wolverine could survive a nuclear explosion at ground zero; his healing factor would keep him alive."

Gertie rolled her eyes, looked at Kyo incredulously because she knew she was right, and then thoughtfully tore into his argument. "A ground zero nuclear bomb blast would blow the muscle and organs clean off of Logan's adamantium skeleton and cook his brain.” Demonstratively she raised her arms. “There wouldn't be anything left to grow back!" Gertie then augmented her argument with astonishingly scientific fact. "Actually, if you really think about it, there would be nothing left of Wolverine physically at all, because the heat of the blast would simply vaporize him and his metal skeleton too."

The girl hated to do it in a way, because she loved him, but she reviled defeat equally, so Gertie thoughtfully hammered the final nail in the coffin of Kyo's defense. "Besides, there is an incontrovertible precedent in the literature completely proving my case.”

Outrageously, Kyo responded, “Grasping at straws is more like it!” Kyo scoffed while Gertie cut him a look, “Please continue though, Counselor, I can’t wait to hear you pick this apart in minute detail.”

Instead of striking him for his presumption and infuriating sarcasm, Gertie gestured with her hand invitingly and countered beautifully. “Get up from the kiddie table and come sit with the big kids for a little while.” Kyo gave the girl a nasty look of his own as she raised her index finger, fully prepared to blow his ever-lovin’ mind. “In the two part story, What If the Avengers lost Operation Galactic Storm, the Avengers try to stop the Kree, but their leader uses the Omni-Wave Annihilator to annihilate planet Earth.”

Kyo joked, “Well, that’s what Omni-Wave Annihilators do, you know, they annihilate things.”

Gertie finished with a testy tone. “There's also big honking splash page showing the entire Earth getting fried like extra crispy chicken, and all around the world there are depictions of some of the Marvel Universe heroes getting killed, Wolverine included, shown in a panel getting his hairy little ass blown apart, claws and all."

Gertie made several salient points, but as Kyo drove in silence weighing his options, defeat was not one of them.

Even though he completely forgot about that comic book series, he still hoped to pull at least a stalemate out of the argument with his rebuttal. "The comic series that you use to prove your case takes place in an alternate Marvel universe. From its own title, 'What If', we can only gather that this is a theoretical digression from the normal comic book story lines.”

Gertie gave Kyo a look. “So?”

Bravely Kyo defended his position. “Despite the fact that the comic was cancelled a third time,” Gertie rolled her eyes and put her swollen hand on the side of her forehead to massage her temple. “This means that your alternate version of events isn’t canon to the continuity of the story lines that run today, therefore they didn't happen.” With that, Gertie cut Kyo a nastier look. “The destruction of the Earth along with Wolverine’s body was merely an attempt to illustrate what could have happened if the weapon went off in the alternate universe had the Avengers failed in their mission." Gertie sighed impatiently as Kyo expounded. "Furthermore, counselor Shortman, a Kree Omni-Annihilator that can destroy a whole planet and its entire compliment of inhabitants is a lot more powerful than a tiny nuclear bomb, so I still say that Wolverine could survive an explosion of such small magnitude."

“Small magnitude?” Gertie rolled her eyes and said sarcastically, "Geez, while you’re renting a condo in fantasy land, maybe Wolverine could get a secondary set of mutant powers since radiation is involved."

Kyo snapped his fingers with bright eyes then pointed to his friend, "Yeah! Just imagine what Wolvie could do with Spidey's powers!"

“Oh, good grief!” Gertie said dryly. "You're lucky you're good looking, Kyo Johannsen, that‘s all I’ve got to say.” As the car filled with silence, she wished that they were already at the barbecue, because one, she was getting really hungry. Two and it was sexist, Gertie was fairly sick of male logic which she found to be at times, an oxymoron of the highest degree.

Meanwhile, before Kyo could ponder every possible facet of Gertie's statement about him being good looking, they passed a primer grey car parked on the side of the road cloaked in darkness. He remarked, "That's funny, that looked a lot like," The boy cut off his remark when he saw two glowing silver white patches moving in the darkness of night illuminated by his headlights. When they got closer, he observed it was someone running extremely fast.

Kyo queried, "Who in the world do you think that is?"

As they drew closer to the person, Kyo turned on his high beams, Gertie reasoned, "I don't know, but they're runnin' like Richard Pryor on fire."

Kyo squinted past his glasses and said in recognition, "Hey, I think that’s Courtney."

Gertie rolled down her window halfway, and yelled quite loudly, "Hey, Cheetara, is that you a’haulin‘ass?" As Kyo laughed loudly and applied his brakes to slow down.

The swift figure abruptly stopped running, turned, and immediately shielded her eyes from the bright halogen lights glaring in her face and burning her corneas. As the passenger window rolled down the rest of the way, Kyo put the car in park and he leaned down in front of Gertie in order to look Courtney in the eyes. "Where’s the fire, Gammelthorpe? Was that your car back there?"

Grateful that her acquaintance was there, Courtney answered Kyo while feeling somewhat foolish as she panted. "Yep, God’s punishment back there is mine.” Gertie guffawed at the panting girl’s irreverent description of her Corvette, and filed it away in her mind to tell her mother later as Courtney explained. “Actually, I think I’ve only flooded the critter.” With little faith, she added, “At least I hope that’s what it is. While I was driving to your place the thing just stopped running, and I couldn’t get the engine to turn over. It’ll take a while for the gasoline to evaporate from the carburetor, so I just took off for your house on foot." The girl shrugged. "May I please have a ride with you two since that’s where I was going in the first place?" Courtney lifted the damp, gradually tearing paper bags up in her hands for the boy to see. "I have this ice cream for your barbecue and its melting fast."

Kyo pressed the keyless remote to unlock the doors and said facetiously, "Oh, gee, Courtney, I believe you'll have finish your jog to my house, sorry." Gertie giggled at the unpleasant look that Courtney gave her friend as he said with a funny voice, "Of course you can have a ride, hop in!”

Gertie crossed her arms, "We see who rates now you made me give you a shrubbery.”

Kyo joked, "It was very nice."

Gertie retorted, "But not too expensive."

Courtney got into the back seat, shut the door, and snapped in her seat belt. "Another convert to the religion of Monty, I gather, minister of funny walks?"

Gertie and the boy laughed, and as the trio pulled away, Kyo mused, "Actually I’m glad that we ran into you because now that I have two absolutely gorgeous ladies in the car with me, people will think I'm a player."

In response, and rightfully so, Gertie gave Kyo a dirty look while Courtney lightly popped her friend on the back of the head with a rolled up menu from Slausen's. He cut a look at Gertie to the side, and then eyed Courtney in the backseat. "Both you girls have a mean streak."

Gertie turned in her seat and smiled at Courtney in silence. She wanted to make her feel comfortable and let her begin speaking first for a change, she was always so quiet during French club meetings, and Gertie didn't want her to think she was rude by starting the conversation.

Feeling a little unnerved at the silent attention, Courtney looked behind herself, turned back, and smiled at her acquaintance, wondering if she had a stain on her shirt, a big booger hanging out of her nose, or was just strange looking enough to merit being stared at like that.

What was worse, she couldn't even check for the first two.

Finally, Gertie broke the silence sensing the shy girl behind her wasn't about to. "Courtney, do you know who the Marvel Comics character Wolverine is?" She thoroughly enjoyed the exasperated sigh that Kyo exhaled from the pit of his being and the utterly gob smacked look decorating Courtney’s face.

The quiet girl said obviously, "Well, I'm not really much of a Marvel comics fan, but who in the world doesn't know who Wolverine is?"

“Excellent.” Gertie said with evil supremacy while nodding her head in the direction of Kyo. "The knight who says Ni and I have been having a little discussion about good 'ol Wolvie tonight and I was wondering if you'd be willing to give your un-biased input on the matter."

By then Courtney was looking at both Kyo and Gertie strangely because sometimes it wasn‘t wise to get in between an argument between fan boys, fan girls, and their chosen fandom.

Jeneane and PJ were still angry over her intercession into their argument about the woefully horrendous, vampire lore steeped book series, Midnight.

Kyo moaned, "What is this, the Spanish inquisition?"

Both Courtney and Gertie replied in unison, "No one expects the Spanish inquisition."

Against her better judgment, Courtney added, "I'll try to be impartial."

Kyo shook his head as Gertie asked, "So, tell me, Ms. Gammelthorpe, given the violently explosive nature of such a weapon, could Wolverine survive being on ground zero during the detonation of a nuclear bomb?"

Kyo winked at Courtney and mouthed in the rear view mirror for her to say 'yes'.

Gertie scowled at the boy, but playfully flicked his ear. "There will be no tampering with the independent jury, Mr. Johannsen."

In her mind, Courtney picked out all the pros and cons of both arguments, but could come to only one conclusion. She figured she might as well be a good sport, and play along in the same vein, so she responded seriously, as if she were addressing a formal inquiry. "If it pleases the court, if Mr. James Howlett were at ground zero of a nuclear bomb blast, wouldn't the intense heat simply vaporize him?” Kyo groaned and Gertie grinned from ear to ear, staring at him in vindication as Courtney added, “In fact would he not be completely obliterated and burned so quickly, there would nothing left of him to grow back?"

Gertie exultantly said, "Thank you!" With rolled up eyes and hands raised in relief. As if a world crisis had been miraculously solved, or another monkey trial averted, the aspiring lawyer ended in triumph, "The prosecution rests."

Kyo groaned, "Well I don't accept the findings, and we're going to convene a grand jury when we get to my house!"

From nowhere it leapt from Courtney's mouth. “If you feel that course of action is necessary, Mr. Johannsen, it is fully within your rights to seek an appeal, though our findings do make sense, not only from a standpoint from the laws of physics, but also to those pertaining to mutated human anatomy, artificially augmented in a secret underground Canadian government laboratory or not."

That final nail hammered into the coffin of Kyo‘s valiant defense, Gertie cackled like a lunatic at the expression on his face as he gave Courtney one last disappointed look in the rear view mirror. Turning his attention back to the road, he asked over his shoulder, "I thought you were going to major in music, Gammelthorpe," The boy raised his head in Gertie's direction, "instead of becoming a shyster like Shortman here."

Gertie in turn smiled widely, and extended her open palm for Courtney to shake and as she accepted the friendly gesture, Gertie offered, "Don't pay any attention to him, Courtney, his butt just hurts 'cause he lost."

Kyo sighed, "I haven't lost yet, Ms. Shortman."

Gertie said a curt, "MmmHmm.” She pointed towards the defeated boy with a catlike growl and saucy smirk. “If I had a fork, I'd stick it right in your ass, Kyo Phillip Johannsen, because you, my friend, are done."

Kyo wondered, “How many times have you said or made reference to your favorite anatomically associated word today alone?”

“Nowhere near enough!” Gertie spat back with justification.

As the innocuous argument between the two grew to ridiculous heights of reserved immaturity, ever since she was a child, Courtney never had much to say when in the company of others because she preferred to observe them and listen.

Using such discipline, over the years the observant young lady had learned a great deal about people in this way, and gotten loads of complimentary entertainment from it as well.

First, there was the completely self-satisfied look every woman gets on her face when she knows that she is right and there's no conceivable way that he can deny it; coming from Gertrude Shortman.

Second, there was the look every man gets on his face when he knows that he is lost or wrong, but doesn’t want to admit it, that Kyo Johannsen had plastered over his.

Third, was the fact that the two people in the front seats utilized their frequent, somewhat mild disagreements to poorly disguise the fact that they were madly in love with one another, but neither would be the first to admit it.

As the steam fueling their disagreement died and silence between her acquaintances in the front seat took its place, Kyo glanced at Gertie, and then cocked an eye at Courtney in the rear view mirror. “I still say that,”

Courtney cut Kyo’s statement off and wisely advised as she patted his shoulder and looked into his eyes in the rear view mirror, “Let the wookie win.”

Cutting off a delighted snicker, Gertie twisted in her seat to face Courtney with a wide, appreciative smile. Highly impressed with the shy girl and eager to learn more about her as soon as possible, Gertie pointed towards Courtney with her index finger.

"You and me are gonna’ get along just fine."

* * *

Returning home, Kyo walked into the warm kitchen with Gertie and Courtney, Phoebe turning in time to hear, "I’m back with the prisoners, Mom!"

Courtney stood in a corner watching the warm scene unfold as Gertie walked over to Phoebe with her arms spread; the tiny woman had a big smile on her face as the girl said. "Hey, Auntie Phoebe, how are you?"

In response the tiny woman wrapped her arms around the girl she had known before birth, delivered, and had grown to love as a daughter. "Oh, Shortman! I'm so glad you came!"

The happy girl smiled and said, "Thanks for having me over." She turned to Kyo with outstretched hands. "By the way, Mighty Falcon sent this to you." Gertie took the heavy gallon sized container of mayonnaise out of Kyo's hands, who looked grateful to be divested of it, and began the task of peeling the greasy plastic bag off. The top of the oversized jar had somehow come off during transit, and the wayward condiment was all over the inside of the bag, and the outside of the container. Embarrassed it was such a mess and stank to high heaven; Gertie looked upwards as she held it out towards Phoebe. “Mom said you’d know what to do with it.”

Phoebe was tempted to inform her goddaughter that her mother was very, very wrong as Gertie put the slimy plastic container into her tiny hands. When she grasped it, the container coated her hands with an icky, opaque residue that instantly made her face twist, and when she thought it could be no worse, the full stench of the spoiling condiment reached her nostrils.

Phoebe’s face twisted, and she thought of the huge laugh Helga was having at sending her yet another large, unwieldy thing to baby-sit as the container of mayonnaise threatened to slip out of her hands.

The diminutive woman sighed, placed the container on the counter, and was thankful that at least it wasn't another biting, scaly, tongue flicking, hissing, furniture scratching, parent infuriating, defecating monitor lizard. "Your father went to the warehouse store hungry again, didn't he?" Phoebe smirked as she began to think of the appropriate payback to visit upon her best friend and said dryly, "I'll thank Helga for this later."

Oblivious to Phoebe’s meaning, Gertie warned, "Actually, I don’t think I would eat any of that if I were you." The girl shrugged, and out of respect and politeness, refrained from using her favorite word in front of her beloved godmother. "I think its gone bad because it kinda’ smells like, well,"

Instantly knowing the mayonnaise was going into their garbage the first chance she got, Phoebe finished the girl's sentence for her properly, truly appreciating her efforts to sanitize her language. "Ass?"

Everyone else in the room gave Phoebe the strangest look, and for that alone Phoebe felt it was worth using the profane descriptive term as Gertie politely nodded. "Yeah."

Washing her greasy hands in the sink with a healthy squirt of dishwashing detergent, Phoebe warily added as she imagined the noxious condiment eating through her expensive marble countertop. "Don't worry; I know exactly what to do with it."

The whole gallon was going to be thrown away just as soon as the first opportunity presented itself.

Reaching for a dishtowel to dry her hands with, Phoebe spied Courtney hiding in the doorway, immediately walked over, gave her a polite hug, and then took her by the hand to draw her inside the kitchen. "Oh, it's been much too long since you've visited us, Courtney, how is your father doing?"

Thinking of that morning, and how the news of her bad behavior had spread like wildfire, Courtney smiled uncomfortably, shyly joking, "As well as he can with a daughter like me."

Phoebe laughed and placed her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Well, Thaddeus must be doing perfectly fine then."

Grateful that at least doctor Johannsen didn't know the awful things she said and did that morning, Courtney handed the sweating paper bag of ice cream to her host. "Thank you for having me over, Mrs. Johannsen." The girl pointed to the bag, "You might want to eat this now, or put it in your freezer because it's melting fast."

Phoebe peeked inside the bag. "Oh, a woman after my own heart!" She mused with a wink while taking the containers out, "I like cookie dough, but I love dark chocolate brownie surprise! Thank you, it was extremely considerate of you to bring this, Courtney."

Glad her hostess was pleased, she looked down and bashfully replied, "You're welcome, I hope you all enjoy it." Then Courtney stood to the side when she saw a rather front heavy woman walking towards the doorway of the kitchen.

"Come here, Stink Toot!" Timberly said with great affection as she walked into the kitchen from the family room, holding her arms out. In response Gertie turned, and gently placed hers around the sweet woman, trying to make ample room in her grasp to accommodate the large pregnant stomach that she could barely reach around to hug.

Gertie kissed her cheek and exclaimed, 'How are you? It's so good to see you, 'Tim!" Gertie pulled away from her and looked at the size of her stomach. "You're due when?"

Timberly blew breath from her lips and said with a relieved tone, "In less than a month." Soon, she felt a stirring, motioned to Gertie to give her a hand, and then placed it on her stomach.

Entranced by the curious movement of life in Timberly's stomach, Gertie stooped down and remarked with wonderment in a quiet, affectionate tone, "Wow! It’s not like a kick; it feels almost like one of them is rolling their hand inside your tummy instead."

Timberly grinned, "You'll know what that's like someday."

Quickly rising away from Timberly’s stomach with a deep red blush adorning her face, Kyo glanced at Gertie with his handsome brown eyes. The flummoxed girl crossed her hands in front of herself with a cutting motion and blurted out, "I doubt it!"

The truth was that she had thought about what it would be like to be a mother more times than she could count, as well as thinking of suitable father material to along with it.

One familiar name kept popping up for some reason, but Gertie would sooner die rather than let anyone find any of that out.

When she was little she had dolls, but didn't want to be caught by her brother playing with them, so Gertie hid them in her closet. When she had the door to her bedroom shut, she would put away her cap guns, action figures, and spaceships; to tuck dolls into bed, change imaginarily soiled diapers, and rock them to sleep in her arms.

Watching in silence, Courtney felt jealous and then guilty because it was a sin to feel the first while Gertie and the two women talked and caught up with each other.

It was obvious how adored Gertie was by everyone, and Courtney did not begrudge her that at all, she was one of the nicest people at school, but she wished that she had a sibling like Gertie or Kyo, and homes of friends that she could visit regularly like they seemed to be able to, and be so loved.

Her father loved her, and Consuela did too, but outside of them and house staff, she didn't have anyone else, really.

Ever since she was little, her mother's parents, Buchwald and Brooke, were always gone on some vacation or busy, and her great grandparents and cousins lived all the way across the country so it was few and far between when she saw them. They were nice enough, but she had never had a chance to bond with them.

She knew her father had family that lived in town, but never spoke of them. Courtney certainly never met any of them and knew not to ask why, because the underlying current she gleaned from her father about his feelings for them was that he didn't give a damn.

She always wondered what happened so that he never talked to them, but her father always said it was a long story for another time; and anyone with any sense knows that after hearing that, it means not to pry.

Then Timberly glanced to her side and saw Courtney standing quietly to the side. The shy girl would just as soon have not had anyone notice her presence at all, but Timberly held her hand up towards Courtney with an inviting gesture and warm smile on her face asking, "And who is this?"

Kyo smiled as Courtney snapped out of her thoughts and reluctantly stepped forward as he introduced her. "Oh, I’m sorry, Aunt 'Tim, this is our friend Courtney Gammelthorpe. Courtney, I'd like for you to meet my aunt Timberly Mac Thomas."

“Oh, my goodness!” Timberly's eyes sparkled and she thrust out a hand for Courtney to shake. "You're Curly's girl?"

Courtney nodded bashfully as she gave Timberly a friendly smile and extended her hand to shake. "Yes, Ma'am, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Timberly gushed in a high-pitched voice, "Oh! Just look at how beautiful you've grown to be!" Framing Courtney’s surprised face gently with her hand, the kind woman remarked, “You’re the spitting image of your mama!” Thoughtfully choosing not to mention Rhonda's unfortunate death and the fact that she didn't see the girl at the wake, Timberly remarked with a smile, "Anyway, young lady, we've met before, but I doubt that you remember me."

Courtney was surprised. "We have, Mrs. Mac Thomas? When?"

Timberly said, "Of course! I met you when you were a baby, and I would look after you when you were a toddler along with Kyo, Gertie, and Miles from time to time."

Gertie and Kyo glanced at each other with the mention of Miles' name, then back to Courtney.

Then Timberly edged closer to Courtney, it was a feeble attempt to be out of everyone's earshot, but she had inherited the adult tendency to be obvious with secrecy. With a wink, the curious woman wondered slyly, "So, are you and that stinker Miles still an item?"

It was incredible the freakish red blush that crawled across Courtney's face as Timberly crossed her fingers. "You kids were like two peas in a pod when you were little." Timberly's face cracked into a wide grin as Gertie and Kyo wished that Timberly would change the subject from Miles to something else as she prattled on. If she spilled the beans and Courtney found out that Miles was going to be at the party that night she just might take off. "You two were just crazy about one another and couldn't stand to be apart! In fact, you both refused to be put down for naps and would cry if you weren't cuddled together." Timberly threw up her hands and remarked fondly, “I never saw the likes of it, but it was mighty cute, though.”

Unexpectedly, blood began to flow heavily out of one of Courtney's nostrils again. The mortified girl held her hand up to her nose in vain trying to hide the sight of the red fluid, and Timberly asked in shock, "Baby, are you okay?"

Accustomed to seeing much worse blood loss from patients, usually accompanied with foul language screeched at a terrified father with the mother’s legs spread wide open and her feet in stirrups; Phoebe calmly grabbed a paper towel from a roller as the bleeding girl reached with her other outstretched hand.

Looking down, Courtney noticed that the blood had missed her shirt, instead falling to the ivory white ceramic tile floor. Apologizing profusely, Courtney covered her nose. "I-I'm so sorry, everyone! I'm making a terrible mess! Please forgive me!" Asking as she bent over trying to clean her blood off the floor with her fingers, "Mrs. Johannsen, may I please use your powder room?

Clearly hearing Rhonda’s proper voice in the girl‘s, Phoebe shook her head and gently pulled her up by the forearm. "It's okay, Courtney, please don't apologize, and don't bend over like that, but keep your head down. The bathroom is down the hall to the right, across from the steps."

Unprompted, Gertie took charge, and the bleeding girl by the hand. "C'mon, I'll show you where it is, Courtney."

Phoebe rummaged through the utility drawer and said with a calm voice, "I'll bring some gauze to place in your nostrils in a moment, dear."

Gertie placed a comforting hand on Courtney's back and asked Phoebe as she walked down the hall, "Is there any toilet paper in the bathroom?"

Wondering if she should publish a paper in all the medical papers and journals about the possible benefits of the use of toilet paper in medicine, Phoebe rolled her eyes and dryly declared, "Yes, Doctor, a full roll, and more is under the sink."

The tiny woman put her hand on her forehead and Kyo laughed as Gertie irreverently promised in the distance with Courtney in tow, "Don’t worry, if the gauze doesn't work, some toilet paper will get you fixed up as good as new, you'll see.” With assurance, Gertie informed, “Toilet paper is nature’s band aid.”

“Oh, Lord.” Timberly chuckled, but Phoebe simply shook her head with a wry smile knowing full well that there was no way in the world that Helga could deny that girl of hers was her child, even if she wanted to.

Actually, Phoebe wished that Gertrude R. Shortman could run the Hillwood Memorial Hospital administrative staff for a time, and after she got their egos in line; she could then begin working out the kinks in the emergency room, and put a few of those pompous people in their place too.

As soon as the girls were out of earshot, Kyo turned to his mother. "I’ll get it up for you, mom."

Phoebe shook her head and whispered harshly, "No, what I want you to do is take that rank gallon of mayo to the garage, put it in a garbage bag, put that bag in another garbage bag, tie it up really well, put it in another garbage bag and then throw it in the trash!" As an afterthought, Phoebe added, "Put some garbage that’s already in there on top of it too so Gertie and Miles won't see it and that the neighbor’s confounded dogs don't smell it, turn over the can, and rip apart the bags again.

After donning a pair of latex gloves from the box she "borrowed" from Hillwood Memorial, Phoebe bent over with a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and began cleaning the droplets of blood from the floor as Timberly held a garbage pail for her, and ate potato chips.

Phoebe looked up at her friend, smiled, and then continued cleaning, shaking her head with a smile.

* * *

Freshly showered, and dressed in a faded blue State University volleyball team T-shirt and a pair of red and yellow plaid boxers with the fly sewn up; Helga carried clean sheets from the second floor closet, back up to the sky lit bedroom that belonged to her son.

When she reached the top step, Arnold should have been up, dressed, and had the dirty sheets stripped off Miles' bed for her. Instead, she was surprised, and yes, irritated, by the sight of her procrastinating husband still sitting up in bed with the covers pulled up to his waist, naked as a jaybird, and oddly enough; reading a magazine.

Like a bartender wanting to get rid of the last barfly in the beer joint so she could turn chairs up on tables and call it a night, the exasperated woman dropped the clean sheets to her side on the floor to loudly clap her hands. “Last call, Football Head, you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!”

Arnold was shocked out of his magazine, quickly folded it back in its original sloppy crease, and threw it back into the open drawers next to the bed acting like nothing happened. He groaned internally when she asked in irritated humor accentuated with a tiny laugh, "What are you doing?"

"Nothin'." Was his answer, and fortunately nothing had arisen from his reading except for a red, oddly sweaty face, and an abashed grin that was guilty for getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Unrealized by Arnold, he hadn't put the periodical back in the drawer properly, so before he had a chance to stop his wife, Helga walked over, roughly snatched the lightly halved magazine from it's hiding place, and a glance of the cover told the entire story. "Oh for the love of!" Then gave her husband a cockeyed look, and smartly popped the side of his bottom with the rolled magazine as she might a misbehaving dog. Studying the contraband, Helga wasn't at all surprised that it wasn't a copy of Sports This Week, because all healthy red blooded boys, girls too, had their stashes of squirreled away pornography; and apparently Miles was no exception.

Helga had an indescribable look on her face as she read the month of June and the year on the upper left hand corner of the publication. Wondering if his wife was going to rip into him for looking at a vintage girly magazine, or get onto Miles when he got home for having it, he was surprised when all she had to say about the risqué publication was, "Where in the world did Miles get his hands on a Playpen from nineteen seventy three? This is a collector's item; it shouldn't be folded up this way!"

With a strange, but naughty look, Arnold pulled Helga down into his lap, took the magazine away from her, and popped her on her bottom with it as she faced him. "Good God, Gertie's comic book collecting, next thing you know you'll be buying those little sandwich bags, and white cardboard backers for him to stick it in."

Helga sighed and did a pretty good imitation of Gertie's voice with a twist. "Call them bags and bones, Football Head, you're so ten pages behind."

Then Arnold's thoughts turned wicked, "If I remember correctly, I do believe that a certain Helga G. Pataki had a chance to grace the centerfold pages of Playpen once upon a time." Arnold's eyebrow rose, "Now that would have been a collector's item!" Helga scoffed as Arnold queried, "How much did they offer you again?"

With a twisted sense of pride as she pulled herself to sit alongside her beloved leaning against the wall, she took the magazine out of his hands and recounted, "A cool two million bucks, Bucko." Arnold had an impressed look on his face as she added, "At first they offered me one, but I turned it down, so they said they'd give me two thinking I was just holding out for more money."

Arnold asked, "What was the fee for all together?"

"That was for an interview, photo spread, and centerfold provided I wore all the medals." She answered.

Arnold smirked, "I definitely would have bought a few copies of that, Pop Tart."

Helga rolled her eyes, "I don't know why you would have bothered, you've seen it for years for free."

"That was after we started dating!" When Helga gave him a strange look, Arnold asked, "Why didn't you do it?"

"Because those medals would’a been cold!” Arnold laughed as Helga finished her thoughts. “Besides, who wants to think of people looking at you in the altogether and doin’ somethin‘?”

Arnold burst out into loud laughter with the irreverent truth of it all, “Christ, Helga!”

Undaunted, she continued, "Something like that would have tarnished my good girl role model image and would have endangered the other commercial deals that I was making more money with anyway." Helga finished with, "Plus, I just didn't wanna’ to do it."

Arnold shook his head at the last answer. "Well there we go." The man then admitted, "I could have handled guys looking at my naked ass and boobs for a cool two million."

Helga grinned, and cupped one of Arnold's pectoral muscles, "You're not very meaty up here, Shortman." With a grin, Arnold opened his mouth to say something utterly filthy, and self indulgent, but Helga stopped him a smack on the head with the magazine and a warning, "Don't you dare."

Arnold studied Helga strangely as she opened the magazine, and began thumbing through it herself. "I can't believe that it doesn't make you mad that I was looking at that."

Helga cast him a look, "Why should it? One, men will always look, it's in your nature, just as it is in women's to check out men." The woman waved a hand to her side as she still studied the magazine, "Two, you can't de-program millions of years of evolutionary mate searching. Three, and most importantly, I don't care where you work up your appetite just as long as you come home to eat."

Arnold purred, “You know how much I love leftovers.”

Refusing to dignify his statement with a response, Helga looked back down into the magazine, and declared, "Good Lord the times have really changed, haven‘t they?" To Arnold's surprise, his wife pointed out an area of interest and then shamelessly pushed it into his face. "They didn't believe in trimming things back in the day, did they?"

Arnold grimaced and snatched away the magazine. "Good God will you please quit looking at that?" As Helga laughed loudly, he made a face, "It's creepin' me out!"

Helga looked at her husband incredulously. "It doesn't bother me that you look at other naked women, but it bothers you that I look at other naked women?"

Arnold shrugged. "Well, women are more aesthetically pleasing to look at nude." He reasoned. "Guys are just hairy, awkward, and flop around inappropriately." The not too extremely concerned man pointed at the magazine. "You might start to like looking at that better than my floppy parts."

As Helga rolled her eyes, she said with mild disgust, "Only in your mind could that magic be conjured up, Arnoldo!"

The naughty man then attacked his wife with a kiss and tried to maneuver himself into a more interesting conversation topic. "I got a trick to show you."

Unfortunately for the hopeful man, Helga would have none of it. "Oh, no you don't!" With a look that could curdle milk, Helga informed, “I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to work.”

Helga said in an exasperated tone that Arnold knew not to contradict, "Now, it's almost ten o'clock, and I want to get this bed made, and the room nice for Miles for when he gets back." She motioned towards the corner with her head. "I'm also going to try to figure out what guns go with which robot in that pile over there."

Arnold whined, and then tried a desperation move that bordered on pathetic. He looked her up and down with pouting lips and lustful green eyes as he ran his fingertips across her forearm; one of the surprising turn ons that Helga usually couldn't resist. Shamelessly he begged, "But we have two whole hours left, actually a little more."

Helga rolled her eyes, and said as nicely as she could, "If you're not going to help, get your butt out of bed, and out of here, please." Arnold tried one more time, and gave Helga a kiss that nearly made her cave, but she was able to pluck up enough resistance and push him away by his chest. "Will you please get up?"

Helga turned her back from Arnold to pick up the fresh bed linens from the floor, but instead of getting up, he decided to take a peek into one last drawer beside the bed, his favorite one when he was a child where he kept the picture of his mother and father.

When he opened the drawer and peered inside, Arnold could say two things about Miles' photographic skills and subjects. One, his photos looked like a professional took them, and two; there was no way Miles’ favorite subject knew that she was being photographed. Arnold surmised that his son must have inherited his mother's stalking abilities like other children genetically attain their hair and eye coloring, because Arnold knew Miles didn't get silent running capabilities from him.

The pretty girl was sitting on what looked like one of the piers on Fisherman's Wharf, with Elk Island in the distance at sunset. There was a full to nearly overflowing garbage scow covered with seagulls in the backdrop, but you really didn't notice it because of the subject.

Courtney Gammelthorpe was wearing a black pullover and blue jogging shorts with white trainers looking upwards at the orange, red, and purple hued sky, her head in a tilt with her knees gathered up to her chest. She wasn't sad, or angry looking, nor did she have a smile on her face, but the expression of someone wiser than their years thinking, or what his grandmother Gertie called, an old soul pondering past lives.

The funny thing about the photo was that standing next to the raven haired girl was a herring gull, and it in turn was looking up at Courtney with its own head cocked upwards in the same manner as hers.

It was remarkably strange because the gull actually looked like it was observing the enigmatic girl and trying to figure her out itself.

He turned over the picture, and the most moving, and endearing thing about the picture was not the picture at all, but instead of what his smitten son wrote in his special, not too neat but legible handwriting in black ink.

' _A shit hawk contemplates my love_ '

So like his mother in many ways, Arnold thought it was sweet that Miles secretly revered Courtney, finding her so interesting that he lent her the power to make an animal contemplate her, and at the same time, funny that he had inherited Helga’s ability to say it just as irreverently as she might.

Even though his poetry game was weak, Arnold hoped Miles could somehow convince Thad's daughter to give him a chance. Sympathetic to his plight, he understood the pain Miles was going through, because he too knew all too well the agony of loving a girl so much it hurt, thinking that he could never be with her.

At least at the time he thought he couldn't.

Helga exclaimed, "Good grief, Arnold!" The inquisitive man jumped, shoved the photo back into the drawer, slammed it shut, and then quickly wiped under one of his eyes. "You shouldn’t be snooping around in Miles' things! He has a right to his privacy!" Arnold cut his wife a look as the irate woman blew her bangs out of her face. With an accusatory tone, Helga stated, "I swear, you get more and more like Phil every day!"

Arnold got up with a groan and pulled the grey cut offs onto his hips for the last time of the evening choosing not to mention the picture, grateful that Helga didn't catch the tear he swiped away. "You think being like Grandpa is a bad thing?"

Helga shook her head with a smile. "Good lord no!” Helga added with caution, "You know I loved him, but Phil could be a sneaky little shit when he wanted, and had no problem adjusting the rules to accommodate his dubious agendas." Helga smiled with fondness and added matter of factually, her fingers framing her chin, "We were a lot alike, actually."

Arnold laughed as he remembered his mischievous grandfather, "No kidding! He took my dollar, and you stole my heart, Shortman!" Arnold took the woman he loved into his arms and hugged her tightly while kissing her cheek. "Grandpa was in love with you because he finally had a true partner in crime." Arnold said with caution, "You'd help him with illicit plans that grandma and I wouldn't have dreamed of taking part in."

Helga grinned and unintentionally planted a seed with a flourish of her arm and hand. "I can't believe you haven't written a book called, ' _Never Eat Raspberries: Life as a Permanent Tenant of the Sunset Arms_ ’ yet.”

With the statement, Arnold’s eyes seemed illuminated by the fireworks of his imagination as a wide happy grin twisted across his face.

Obviously writing the first chapter mentally, Helga smiled wryly and nodded downwards towards the steps. "Go on ahead and write it down before you forget the ideas you just got." Arnold grabbed a piece of blank paper from Miles' desk, scribbled down some thoughts, and when finished, he quickly rumbled down the steps to his study to begin writing.

To Helga's surprise, she heard footsteps storming back up the steps and when she turned, Arnold grabbed her by both her forearms, pulled her in for a long drawn out sloppy wet kiss on the lips and then released her. "God, I love you, Pop Tart!” He pressed his forehead gently against hers while gazing lovingly into her eyes and confessed affectionately, “You really are my muse!" Then the excited writer ran back down the steps again and when she heard the door to his study slam shut, Helga walked over to the bedroom door.

Whenever Arnold started a new book, they both indulged in a ritual that assured good luck, so in the interest of tradition and success, Helga yelled down the steps loudly, "If you loved me so much, you'd share the royalties, Paste for Brains!"

Helga turned to make the bed, and from the study she heard Arnold's faint voice declare, "But I'm the one writin’ it!"

Chuckling, Helga picked up the magazine she and Arnold had been reading and stooped down on one arm and hand to place it back in the small drawer to the side of the bed. Since she wasn't the one who removed it, she couldn't be sure that the magazine was in the correct position. Doubting that Miles would even notice because the boobs inside would distract him, she closed the drawer grateful that she would be able to get the room cleaned and bed made in time for his return.

Once finished with the linens, Helga began putting the toys she knocked off of Miles’ shelf back together as well as she could. Some of the weapons were easy to replace, but she was sure that she got most of the weapons mismatched. It was obvious that she couldn't put the toys in their original poses, so Helga settled for just putting them back on the top of the shelf for her son to fix however he wanted.

She didn't dare tell Arnold, but the cat was out of the bag anyway, they weren't fooling anyone in the house anymore. With a roll of her eyes, Helga had to realize that even Abner and Chewie probably knew what sort of game was afoot between them.

After a last check to make sure the room was as clean as it would probably be, at least until next Friday, she thought with a delighted smirk, Helga turned off the bedroom light, but when she did, she heard a light tap, and saw a black silhouette gracing the upper left hand corner of the skylight.

Her visitor wasn't unusual, but she wasn't expecting him in either, so she gathered that he was there to get something to eat, drink, or he was hurt again.

Helga hoped it wasn't the last, true she was a doctor, but she wasn't the kind of physician that could do him much good.

Of course that was the overused joke they both indulged in, but somehow it never got old.

Grateful that Arnold's study door was closed, and knowing that he wouldn't come out for air for hours because he was writing, the weight of her body wrinkled her son's neatly made bed as she stepped up onto it. As soft feet found their holds on the built in steps in the wall, Helga began the short climb up to the skylight to unlock it and step onto the roof of the old boarding house to see what the vigilante protector of Hillwood City needed.

* * *

Sitting on the light purple plush covered lid of a toilet and looking up at the red tiled ceiling with a long piece of white, but slightly red stained gauze sticking out of her right nostril, Courtney sat as still as she could while Gertrude Shortman finished mopping soggy, dripping toilet paper around the edges of her nose. It was a little uncomfortable, but Courtney didn't dare ask her benefactor to stop. It would be rude, and frankly, Courtney was beyond flattered that the most popular girl at Hillwood High cared about her well being in the first place.

After a last check, Gertie held her thumb up and declared with victory and a wink, "There we are, Courtney, all cleaned up and good to go." Then she handed Courtney another cool damp bundle of toilet paper to place on her sore nose.

"Thank you, Gertrude; it's feeling a lot better now." Courtney said as she plucked pinkish, bloody tinged gauze out of her nose, and placed her slender framed glasses back on her face.

Gertrude smiled, "You're welcome, and please, call me Gertie, everyone else does."

Courtney slightly smiled, "I'm sorry, I-I just didn't want to be presumptuous, you know."

It bothered Gertie a great deal that Courtney had a penchant for apologize for the most trivial of things, seemingly her very existence, and acting like she was in the way of everyone at school.

Of course, it was no wonder she felt that way, seeing as how they treated her.

Gertie knew that if she were in Courtney’s shoes, and endured the same treatment, she would tell everyone doing it to kiss her ass on their way to hell.

Actually, Gertie admired Courtney for her humility, and despite the fact that her family was extremely wealthy, she was kind to everyone, never put on airs, or acted like she was better than anyone else.

Gertie looked at her feeling extremely ashamed, because once she was in the hall with Tim before a class and when Courtney walked by, he bullied her. When she asked him not to call Courtney names he shrugged it off and changed the topic. Gertie always felt bad about it for many reasons, the main one being that she didn't say anything more as she should have; but instead dropped the matter because she didn’t want to make Tim angry for their date later that evening which was selfish.

In hindsight, Gertie knew she should have realized who Tim Donovan really was from his treatment of other people including Courtney, and kicked him to the curb, but sometimes people aren’t so smart while under the spell of that tricky bastard called love.

As far as Miles went, God knew her poor brother needed all the help he could get when it came to getting Courtney’s attention in a good way. Miles was a wonderful person and contrary to occasional appearances, she loved him very much, but at times he was about as smooth as a sheet of sandpaper.

The biggest boogabear in the deal was that Miles would be a hard sell, and if any evidence of that fact was doubted, all she needed to do was think upon her foolish brother's interaction with Courtney through the years, culminating in the avalanche of hurt feelings and justifiable anger that very morning.

After the car ride to Kyo's, and spending some time alone with her, Gertie found that she really liked Courtney. Not only was she highly intelligent, but with the evidence she gathered that night, Gertie suspected that there was a marvelous sense of humor lurking under the surface in the shy girl too; it just needed to be brought out. Courtney was a bit reticent to show it, but that was okay, because it seemed that once she was around people she felt she could trust, she opened up a little; and allowed some of the girl she hid on the inside out.

After making comparisons to both Miles’ and Courtney’s personalities, she just knew that contrary to their past history, Courtney would get along astonishingly well with her brother and would make a terrific match for him.

Even though his grades and actions sometimes didn't necessarily reflect it, Miles was as brilliant as Courtney, so he could talk to her without feeling challenged; and Courtney wouldn't be bored with him. Added to that, Miles could make a dead man laugh, and he didn't care what he had to do to or say to make anyone laugh, so he could perform the task of bringing Courtney out of her shell quite well.

Miles' biggest, but not insurmountable flaws were that he was a bit immature, and sometimes easily led astray.

As it seemed to turn out, Courtney could be the much needed foil for some of her brother's less than bright ideas and be a better influence on him than the assholes Miles had been trying to court the attention of that had summarily ended as of that morning.

True, she had her work cut out for her, but Gertie labored with worse in the past and gotten stellar results.

It was a monumental chore to get Jella Horowitz and Andrea Burman to admit they had a thing for each other. Never mind the fact that it was two females being attracted to each other trying desperately to hide that proclivity from not only themselves and everyone else, but also two girls with somewhat dominant personalities.

As a consequence, neither one of them wanted to admit the truth of themselves, their attraction to one another, or give ground either, so they both rode the merry go round of ' _I hate you, no, I hate you **more** , bitch_' to hide it.

It took locking the two girls in a closet for almost the entire duration of a house party to get them to get in touch with their feelings for one another. First they beat their fists on the door while threatening to kill her, then they spent an hour punctuated by trading insults at each other, and then finally, after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, they began to talk rationally to one another, soon setting aside their differences to start making out.

Being a couple since that night, they had done an excellent job concealing the true nature of their relationship from everyone at school and their parents for nearly two years. Gertie felt it was sad, and an injustice that they felt like they had to hide the truth about their relationship, but then again, for the time being, perhaps that was the wisest thing for them to do. Gertie knew that unfortunately, not everyone was understanding, foolishly feared that which they misunderstood, and that could easily make their lives at Hillwood High a living hell.

It didn't seem to really bother either of the girls that they had to endure a lot of inconvenience to be with each other anyway, but they were planning on sharing a dorm at State next year.

Putting all that aside, Gertie smiled at her newest project and wanted to get started in a hurry, because surely to God Miles was going to be there soon, and she needed to prepare his stupid ass for the challenge ahead, and smooth the road for him with Courtney.

Innocently waiting for an opportunity to weasel into chatting about her brother, with genuine concern, Gertie asked, "So are you okay?" The girl cautiously added, "You know, over today?"

The girl nodded and said gratefully, "Thank you for being so nice to me; I really didn’t get a chance to thank you for everything you did, but I really do appreciate you helping me." The girl gushed, "It's little wonder that you're so popular."

Mentally kicking herself for sounding so stupid, and before Gertie could respond, Courtney blustered an apology, "I'm also sorry that I hit your brother, and for saying those awful things to him. I shouldn’t have done it, and I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

Gertie scoffed while waving her hand dismissively. "Girl please, I offer to end his life daily!" Courtney watched Gertie’s eyebrows slant downward, she moved her head backwards away from her when the irate blonde expounded. "If I were you, I would have made Miles’ ass eat my shoe years ago for the total idiot he's acted like!"

Courtney's eyes widened at the coarse imagery as Gertie continued with gentler eyes and a sigh. "You know, despite the evidence to the contrary though," Struggling to argue his case well because she wanted to help her brother, Gertie also took painstaking care not to trivialize the aggravation Miles put Courtney through. "Miles really is a good person; he just doesn't know how to show it sometimes.” She gently removed the gauze from Courtney’s nostril, and thankfully, it didn‘t begin to bleed again. Tossing the bloody dressing into the trash can beside the toilet, Gertie acknowledged, “When I say that though, it doesn't make right what he did, we all have free will and he wasn’t raised to act the way that way."

Courtney was confounded at the almost identical sentiments of Miles' twin sister that he had explained earlier in his letter, and was shaken from her thoughts with a comforting hand placed on her shoulder. "I realize you can't just instantaneously forgive and forget everything Miles has done to you, no one could expect that, but he really does care a whole lot about you.” Gertie ended truthfully, “Miles is a little rough around the edges; but there's a lot more to my brother than what he's shown you." The caring sister decided to let that be it as she didn't want to push Courtney too hard, because the way she looked at that moment, she just might run off like she had that morning.

Courtney’s look of sheer surprise stemmed from the fact that she had heard Gertrude Shortman use language that could scour a dirty pot clean, but when she spoke with such surprising love and eloquence just then, the beauty of it could not be denied.

As Gertrude turned to walk towards the hallway, Courtney said, "Um, Gertie?"

The pro bono attorney turned, asking with a gigantic grin, "Yes, Courtney?"

The shy girl said, "Thanks." Then wondered, “Do I look okay?”

Gertie double checked the work she did on Courtney’s nose. “You look great, but are you feeling any better?”

“Much.” Courtney acknowledged with relief, not only for her physical discomfort, but that of her heart. Politely, she asked, “Is your hand okay, it looks like it hurts.”

Gertie chortled irreverently. “Totally worth it, thank you.” Changing the topic off herself, she suggested, "So, what do you say we get out of here?” She noted, “If we stay in here too much longer Kyo will think we fell in or that we're having an after school special moment."

"Didn't we?" Courtney joked.

Gertrude Shortman cracked a wide grin, "Hey, neither one of us cried, it’s not an official after school special moment unless half the cast cries!”

Courtney added, "I think someone has to get a trendy drug addiction and die too."

Both girls laughed, and Gertie patted Courtney on the back. "I can't believe that we've been in French club for so long and we've never really talked to each other before now."

With hope the shy girl said, "I guess we could change that, Gertie." She added cautiously, "If you want to."

Gertie declared, "Hell yeah!” Courtney wasn’t expecting the moderate slap on her back when the enthusiastic girl added, “You're going to have to come over and hang out with me, 'K, and Miles sometime." The girl raised her index finger. "Not tomorrow though." She looked upwards thinking of the labor time needed for their additional weekend chore. "Or maybe Sunday too, I’m not sure. Miles and I are grounded until we stain the fence around the backyard, and I don‘t know how long it will take us to finish."

Courtney felt ashamed. "I already heard that you two were suspended from school for three days, and I'm really sorry you were punished at home too."

Gertie shook her head at Courtney with a smile and said, "Well, it's not your fault, and none of that matters now. It’s not a big deal, and what's done is done, right? All you can do in the end is learn from the past and move forward anyway."

Courtney shrugged at the truth of it, and in that moment completely forgave Miles for everything, hoping that he would do the same for her. "No, I guess it really doesn't, and you're right about moving on, I read somewhere that no one can take back the past, but only look to the future."

Gertie grinned while rolling her eyes upwards, "That’s my mom and Kyo’s mantra. I think they both got the same fortune cookie from Fong Chung's."

Courtney laughed. "You and Kyo have been friends a long time haven't you?"

Gertie nodded, "From the crib. We can argue about some really ridiculous things, like tonight and we do have our little tiffs here and there," Courtney couldn't help but notice the gleam in her new friend's eye while she was talking about him. "But no matter how irritated we get with each other, we're still best friends."

Courtney took a chance and said wisely, “I think he loves you too."

Gertie blushed and instead of making denials, she queried with concern, "Am I that obvious?"

Courtney shook her head vigorously. "No, no, of course not."

Gertie gave her a look. "Well," Courtney said with a higher pitched tone with her index finger and thumb giving a reference of size, "Maybe just a little." Gertie rolled her eyes at herself and put her hand on her forehead as Courtney admitted, "I could tell you like him by way that you kept looking at him in the car and when he was trying to influence me during your mock inquiry.” Courtney then astutely observed, “That ear flick you gave him was more affectionate than punitive too." She added quickly, "I think it's sweet and romantic though, because you two seem to have a lot in common and would make a great couple."

Gertie didn’t hear the last bit Courtney had to say however, because the doorbell rang and the hair on her neck stood on end. She didn't know if Courtney had heard the deep voice that answered Kyo’s greeting at the front door, but she did and it _belonged_ to _Miles_.

Gertie knew that she needed to talk to Miles well before she'd ever dream of letting him interact with Courtney just yet. If she set Miles loose with her without a talk beforehand, it would be like pulling the pin out of a grenade, fixing the safety lever with a wad of chewing gum, and setting it out in the hot sun. It might be safe for a little while unattended, but eventually the grenade would explode and make a big freakin’ mess.

"Well, I'll leave you alone for a few minutes and let you get settled, Courtney." Gertie said hurriedly as Courtney noticed the girl's red face as she nearly slammed the bathroom door shut.

Courtney instantly regretted mentioning Gertie's obvious care for her fellow debate team member.

Hoping that she hadn't endangered the kinship that they cultivated, Courtney got up with every intention of apologizing to Gertie, but in her haste she knocked over her purse making the contents spill out onto the floor along with it.

When Courtney bent down to pick up her belongings, she paused and heard hurried footfalls on the wooden steps, Kyo's mischievous laugh, and then a male voice she didn't recognize say, "Nut job!" Then, "Quit it! That hurts!"

Then she heard Gertie harshly command with a whisper, "Shut up! Get your ass upstairs!"

More than curious, but figuring it was none of her concern even though it was strange, Courtney thought she had recovered everything that had tumbled out of her handbag to the floor.  
As she was about to turn the knob of the door to leave, in the corner of her eye she spied something silver and gold near the base of the cabinet under the sink.

Bending down, ultimately having to get on her hands and knees like a penitent on the carpeted floor, she reached under the ledge of the cabinet to grope for the object.

When she produced the heavy item, she was surprised to find that it was the gold and silver scalloped lipstick that belonged to her mother she admired earlier in the day. Not knowing how it got in there to begin with, the girl replaced it to her purse, opened the bathroom door, and jumped at being greeted by Mr. Johannsen who was leaning with his back on the wall in front of the bathroom.

"Good evening, Mr. Johannsen, you kind of startled me." Courtney said, truly surprised by Gerald's appearance.

"It's so nice to see you, Courtney; we're glad that you were able to visit with us tonight. How's your dad Thad doing?"

"Well," The girl cautiously began, "he's been really busy, Mr. Johannsen."

Nodding kindly, Gerald changed the subject. "Luckily for me, Kyo is detained for the moment, so he has asked me to escort you outside and introduce you to the rest of the Johannsen, and Mac Thomas clan in his stead."

Always the charmer, Gerald produced a gallantly crooked arm and led Courtney down the hall towards the backyard. "A word of advice, Courtney, when dealing with my brother's sons,"

The girl asked in great curiosity, "Yes, Sir?"

The loving uncle replied, "If at any time they bother you, please feel free to strike them about the head, or concentrate on their kneecaps." Gerald thought better of his statement and added, "I'll even provide you with the blunt object of your choice."

Courtney laughed out loud and replied, "I've gone head to head with Orrell and the entire Pleasantville High School debate team more than once before." The girl then gave Gerald her father's crooked smile and it surprised him how quickly Courtney could switch from the graceful, aristocratically reserved mannerisms of her mother Rhonda, to the questionably sane visage of her father, Curly. "If you don't mind, Mr. Johannsen, I'd really much rather use my bare hands."

“I’d prefer it!” Gerald guffawed as he led Courtney outside on his arm smiling widely at the thoughts of the conference that was bound to be taking place upstairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Arnold was created by Craig Bartlett and is owned by Viacom Inc. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> Thundercats and its related characters, including the name Cheetara, were created by Ted Wolf and are the property of Time-Warner Inc. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> The 1970’s cartoon Super Friends was narrated by Ted Knight, animated by Hanna-Barbera Productions, and is owned by Time-Warner Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred. 
> 
> Transformers and the character name "Tracks" are the property of Hasbro Inc. and Takara/Tomy Ltd. of Japan. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> Wolverine/James Howlett, Spider-Man, The Avengers, the race called Kree, the comic book series Origins, along with the comic book series, "What If?" and the nearly indestructible metal known as "Adamantium" are all the property of Marvel Entertainment Group Inc. No infringement is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> Star Wars, the characters Chewbacca and R2-D2, and movie dialogue were written/created by George Lucas and are owned by Walt Disney Productions Inc. No Infringement on their property should be implied, nor should be inferred. 
> 
> Monty Python's Flying Circus is owned by The British Broadcasting Company. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred. 
> 
> The brand Band-Aid is a registered trademark of Johnson & Johnson Company. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred. 
> 
> Corvette is a registered trademark of General Motors Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from The Maxwell Implosion instrumental, Lailove, found on their album Small Circle of Friends. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.


	11. Treat Her Groovy

Irrigating the wound on Monkeyman's thigh while simultaneously examining the extent of damage done to his flesh, under the cover of clotted blood and shadow, it was difficult to see the underlying tissue and decide upon the best course of treatment. With some preliminary prodding beneath the scant beam of a pen light, as far as she could tell, all the layers of the skin on Monkeyman's thigh was punctured, along with the thin, yellow subcutaneous fat too, but her main concern was that the wound extended deeply into muscle tissue as well.

Wounds such as these were especially dangerous, and with a suck of heavy breath through her teeth, Helga reasoned with an appraisal of pessimistic optimism, "I've seen you with worse, but still, this is pretty bad." Pressure from the jet of saline solution further irritated the man's already stinging wound as it was forcefully squeezed into it, and as he squirmed, the cold fluid soaked into the tight, fibrous mesh of his pants and spread, chilling him in the night air even more.

As Helga ministered to his wound, Monkeyman flexed his damaged muscles while gripping the sides of the chair in pain, and as a result, the masked man nearly slid off the end of the seat while bloody water splattered onto the roof and Helga's lower extremities, soaking into her own clothing.

Regretting the fact that he was in pain, but unable to do anything about it yet, it was difficult to treat his wound in the primitive conditions on her dark rooftop with her patient being less than cooperative.

Helga asked with an urgent tone melded with frustration as she wiped her bangs out of her face as best she could with her wrists, "Look, Saltzmann, you're going to have to sit still, okay?" She held the bottle of saline solution to her side as rose tinged water dripped down the sides, over her gloved hand while pointing at his behind with the other. "I know it hurts, but I have to irrigate this wound and I can't see what I'm doing while you're ass dancing off the end of the chair!"

In much more discomfort than when he tapped on Helga's window, with the next painful, but necessary high pressure squirt of cold liquid into his extremely sore wound, Monkeyman jerked upwards and asked with frustration, "Did you throw that shit into the freezer before you brought it up here, Mrs. Shortman?"

"It is room temperature, and _blow_ me, Monkeyman." Helga dryly snorted.

She was irritated with him, but despite the insult, Helga wasn't angry with Buddy, the concerned doctor did know however that once again she’d be broaching an unhappy topic that her patient was extremely tired of hearing from his entire support network. Helga hated to do it, but Monkeyman needed to hear what she had to say whether he liked it or not, and she was trying to work herself up into the right mood to bring it up because he didn't have a wife to nag him about it.

Helga sternly suggested, "Be grateful my daughter doesn't have her delicate hands on you." The candid woman blew the errant strands of hair that had wormed out of her ponytail into her face once again and warily added, "Gertie would probably be packing wads of toilet paper into your wound with a rusty ice pick right about now."

The man sighed, and then looked at Helga through his featureless black mesh cowl while rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. "I'm sorry I snapped at you, Doctor, I am most fortunate to have an ally like you that I may call upon in times of duress." Monkeyman said with heartfelt sincerity, "I truly appreciate everything you do for me, Helga, and I thank you humbly."

Helga blushed. "I'm sorry for what I said too. I know you're in a lot of pain, I need to be more patient, and I should have put the saline in the microwave for a few moments as I have in the past."

She wrapped both of her warm hands around the thin bottle, and shook the water hoping in vain that some of her physical warmth would transfer to the contents inside. "I was just afraid your wound would be too tender for the warm fluid seeing as how deep it is, and I wanted to start treating you as soon as possible because this is the worst injury you've had in awhile. I need to make sure there is no foreign matter inside, get it sterilized, and then stitch it up before an infection can get started." Helga cautioned, "This type of wound is extremely dangerous, and if it turns septic you could get blood poisoning, or gangrene, and either lose a limb, or maybe even die."

Monkeyman chuckled fondly, "I love how you always look on the bright side, Mrs. Shortman."

"I'm a realist, Saltzmann.” Helga motioned with her head towards the bedroom door, “If you want that mindless optimism crap, go downstairs and have a sunny little chat with Mr. Blue Sky."

The dark avenger smiled to himself. "I like that song."

Helga rolled her eyes as Monkeyman began humming the seventies standard in strained, upwardly pitching tones that were not suited for his deep voice whatsoever. Knowing it would egg him on, but being unable to restrain herself, Helga had to hide a smile as she asked, "Alright, shine a little love, you never did say how you got hurt."

“It was my own stupid fault because I wasn‘t paying attention!” Embarrassed over his careless mistake, the seasoned parkour enthusiast elaborated. "I leapt onto a fire escape ladder failing to notice that there was a piece of metal bent towards the steps. When I jumped, I saw it, but by then it was too late. I landed on the wrung I wanted, but the metal went straight into my thigh."

The best answer Helga could think of for the creation of the wound was, "Ugh!" Helga declared forcefully with a sympathetic grimace. "As bad as that wound is, it's a wonder you were able to get here!"

Thinking of how fortunate he had truly been, the man added, "It could have been worse, I might have gotten a long deep cut as opposed to a shorter stab if I hadn't gotten a good foothold on the ladder, so I really was pretty lucky."

Helga's eyebrows went up and her lips curled into disbelief, "Jesus, Buddy, I'd hate to see what kind of positive slant you'd put on getting flattened by a garbage truck." Then she shrugged, "You and Arnold should go bowling sometime." Joking kindly as she made a funny expression with her eyebrows, Helga slightly rolled her eyes. "Then you two could be all positive together."

To distract his attention from the assortment of needles that Helga was sorting through to begin working on his injury because he was terrified of them, but didn't want to admit it, Buddy asked, "Where is famous author Mr. Shortman, famous Olympian doctor Mrs. Shortman?"

Helga turned up a tiny bottle of lidocaine after she punctured the blue rubber diaphragm that covered the top of it with a small syringe and allowed the vacuum of the plunger suck clear liquid into the tiny cylinder. "He’s downstairs, wise guy." She tilted her head examining the dosage level she drew. "I tell you one thing right now, Buddy," Helga said with caution while pointing her index finger at him and shaking it, "you better thank your lucky stars Arnold _is_ downstairs in writing la la land or we'd _both_ be shit out of luck, Pal." Helga said with mild irritation as she loaded a second syringe with lidocaine, and placed it in the vigilante's hand to hold.

Monkeyman held the loaded hypodermic between his fingers gingerly; eyeing it as if it were the firing squad for his execution and Helga examined the exterior of the bleeding hole in Monkeyman's thigh with her finger tracing the shape while dripping the painkilling liquid onto the surface of the wound. Helga hated to do it to Buddy, seeing as how nervously he was squirming in his seat, but she'd have to have an idea of what she was working on before she sutured it shut, so she would leave no section of the injury open.

While the experienced woman worked as well as conditions would allow, Monkeyman was illuminating the area of interest with a penlight, but the light coming from his only source of artificial illumination was weaker than what one might get from a lighter. "Damn it!" Helga exclaimed with more venom.

The man asked with concern, "Are you mad at me?"

Biting her lower lip, Helga shook her head negatively as she spread the oozing wound open again. The streetlights below helped a little, but it was so dark on the rooftop that she could barely see what she was doing. As she squirted more cold fluid into the hole in Monkeyman's thigh, she dabbed the gaping hole as dry as she could.

Wishing she could hide the action from her mysterious friend, Helga squeezed the first syringe full of the numbing agent into the man's aerated thigh, and then pointed at it. "We have to wait for a few minutes for this stuff to set in and dull the area so I can explore your leg hole for crap that isn't supposed to be in there."

Monkeyman smiled beneath his cowl, "I just love your scintillating use of correct medical terms, Doctor."

Looking on Arnold's bright side and knowing her vigilante friend was terrified of needles, Helga was grateful that at least the wound in his leg was large enough that she didn't need to inject painkiller into the afflicted area. This time, Helga merely had to squirt into and around the wound itself. "As you asked earlier, no, I'm not mad at you." The woman sighed, and could not pull off the hard ass act to save her life with him considering everything he had been through. "I just worry about you and what you're doing."

Knowing what was coming; Monkeyman slightly raised his arm and muttered, "Here we go!" Moreover, before Helga could retort, Buddy argued, "I've been doing this for years and done okay considering the kind of work I do."

Helga huffed and threw her hand to the side trying desperately not to yell. "Yeah, years, Buddy!" The concerned woman did settle for pointing an accusing index finger at her friend. "The law of averages is going to catch up with you sooner or later!" She sighed. "It may have escaped your notice, but you've become a political liability and already gotten into two scrapes recently where you were damn near caught by the law. The new chief of police wants to crucify you and he's turned over the police department so much that by now, the majority of your supporters are no longer employed by the city."

With a sobering tone, Helga added, "Those few who are left have to toe the chief's line or else they'll lose their jobs too." She looked Monkeyman square in the eye and told it like it was as opposed at to how he would like it to be. "This isn't like the good old days when police chief Viars would go after you with a wink and a nod and then throw case files to you under a table for you to help with." Helga declared as a matter of truth, "This new guy means business and really means to nail your ass."

Instead of taking to heart the wisdom he wasn't in the mood to hear, Monkeyman foolishly chose to make a joke instead. "I hope he buys me dinner and a drink first."

"This isn’t time for a flippant attitude; time is running out on you!" Helga whispered harshly through her teeth as the man jerked backwards. What she said was beginning to sink in when he didn't see the first hint of a smile, and then she threw out her final and best argument. "You are getting too,"

Helga's throat locked, she didn't have the heart to finish the sentence, so consequently, she looked to the side and softened the blow. "Look, I, everyone is afraid that you're going to get killed if you keep this up much longer. You could get stabbed again, shot again, or fall off of a building," Helga saw a theme in association with her friend as she added, "Again."

The concerned caretaker wiped her forehead with the back of her hand as well as she could with her blood coated latex gloved hand. "I've seen some of the jumps you've made across to other buildings, and a couple of the ones that you almost missed." Then Helga made an even better point in her arguments, "There's also all sorts of shitty things that can happen that won't kill you, but will make what is left of your life miserable."

By then Buddy was irritated and he asked Helga, knowing full well, "Like what?"

Sarcastically, Helga listed a delicious menu of debilitating pain. "Oh, let's see, we have a veritable smorgasbord of injuries to keep you warm at night.” As he scoffed, Helga continued, “Lovely afflictions such as paraplegia, quadriplegia, limbs broken so badly they need amputation, arthritis," Helga looked at the man up and down, then added with a tone that sounded suspiciously vindicated, even though it was premature as she had no real proof, "You probably already are a little arthritic, aren't you?" As the stubborn man looked upwards, he did have to admit that his knees, neck, back, shoulders, and pretty much everything else did hurt sometimes.

Helga knew threat of serious physical harm wouldn't be worth a hill of beans to the thrill seeker, so she decided to rely on something only a mother could uncase and get away with extremely well.

Guilt.

"You have so many people who love and depend on you, and you can't take care of us broken to pieces, dead, or rotting in jail." Helga leveled with her patient. "No one can deny that you have done a lot of good and made a real difference with the time you’ve had on the streets, but you need to seriously consider stepping down, finding a replacement," She flung a hand to the side, "or something."

Helga wiped her dampening forehead once again, but despite her best efforts, some of Buddy's dark red blood got on her forehead as she wiped.

The thoughtful man took a section of gauze, soaked it with saline solution, and gently rubbed his blood off his friend's forehead and muttered, "I know," Then he added with an argument that held up in his own heart, but was weak when heard by others, "but it's all I have left of,"

Helga's eyes pierced his as he looked away; there wasn’t any anger or hurtful spite in them, just a question. Even though she couldn't see his eyes, Helga knew exactly where they were under the black mask that couldn't begin to hide the good, generous, and moral man that dwelled behind it. Focusing on them intently, Helga truthfully asked a needless question. "Is it?"

As the man pondered in silence and Helga explored his wound, all she knew was that all of her index finger easily went down into the jagged aperture and there was wiggling room left. It was disgusting, but hid it as she tugged a section of the interior of the wound with a pair of tweezers and asked stoically, "Can you feel that?"

The man shook his head negatively, "I have sensation of pressure, but no pain."

Instead of finishing the important topic she was lecturing her friend about, Helga said pointedly, "Good, the dullness will last for one and a half to two hours, more than enough time to get your butt sewn up, and back to headquarters before Miles gets home."

Buddy laughed, "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

Sighing as she knew the hardships to come, Helga assured, "No, of course I'm not, but this isn‘t exactly something you want your kid to catch you doing, much less your spouse."

“I suppose good ‘ol football head would have a multiple level conniption fit if he caught you with the other man.” Helga’s lips pursed when Monkeyman irreverently poked. “As we all know, Arnoldo can be quite jealous when it comes to the attention you tend to attract.”

Helga cocked an eyebrow, and then said in a guarded tone, "I know that this is the last thing you want to do," The woman looked upwards, "me too, actually, but I've got to get you downstairs into some better light so that I can see what I'm doing." Helga commented cautiously, "The last time I tried to do a major patch up on you by flashlight up here, the neighbors called the police saying someone was trying to break into the house from upstairs."

Wondering if Helga was ever going to forgive him for that, Monkeyman said with frustration, "That happened over ten years ago!"

Helga shot back with her eyes set in a squint, "It was memorable, Buddy, and I don't want it happening again!" She added with caution as she pulled the spandex as far away from Monkeyman’s wound while squeezing another soothing jolt of lidocaine in his wound. "I like to have never gotten you hidden in time!" Helga waved her hand over her head, "Arnold thought I was crazy after the performance I put on for the cops with that freakin' flashlight dance to cover why there was a darting light up here."

Monkeyman knew he shouldn't say it, but he couldn't resist. "You mean he doesn't think you are now?"

Almost wishing the anesthetic hadn't taken effect yet, Helga took one last rough exploratory poke into the wound and optimistically pronounced, "It appears that for now fortune has once more favored the bold, Buddy, because as far as I can tell there aren't any metal shards, paint, dirt, bird poop, or rust in your wound; thank goodness." Helga sighed and pointed at his leg, "We do need to get you out of those tights though; I can't work on your wound with them on."

Too shocked to think of making an off color joke about Helga simply wanting to get into his pants, Buddy's face turned white under his cowl. "You mean you can't sew the wound up with my pants on?"

Helga was as frustrated as Monkeyman by that point, she had to do minor surgery in her son's bedroom with her husband downstairs. There was also the added difficulty that she only had a little less than two hours to perform the complicated task in. “I have to shave the area, treat it with antiseptic, and have a large enough space to work on suturing your skin back together.” Studying the wound in the dark, Helga estimated, “From the looks of it, all you need is five, maybe ten stitches at the most, but I need your leg to be bare to do it, and I have to see what I'm doing." The woman half-joked, "You don't want to be literally sewn to your britches do you?"

The vigilante looked up at the starry night sky and figured he might as well go on ahead and admit, "I um, I'm not wearing any underwear, Mrs. Shortman, just an athletic supporter under these pants."

Helga put her hand on her head. "No underwear?" He shook his head as she clarified with panicked edge on her voice, "Not a stitch?"

Monkeyman whined, "It chafes when it gathers up between the spandex and the armor plating I wear." Even though they were alone on the roof, Monkeyman leaned over to his side and whispered quietly while pointing downwards. “It rides up and pinches my tender parts too.”

Helga made a face and put her hand over her eyes. "Too much information, Monkeyman."

Not finding his candid wardrobe descriptions, or lack of raiment thereof repellent to a female, seasoned though she was, Buddy obliviously shrugged. "I quit wearing underwear when I'm on patrol years ago." The man then informed in a nonchalant manner, "It also makes it easier to go to the bathroom too. You know, it’s a good thing too, because one time I had to,"

“Okay.” Helga held up her hand and shook her head. “It doesn't matter anyway, this may surprise you, Mr. Saltzmann, but I've seen a man's naked backside many times before." She said dryly, "If you've seen one, you've seen them all."

While the masked man giggled immaturely, Helga’s nostrils flared with irritation and then she waved the back of her hand towards the open sunroof window. "Do you think you can make it downstairs?" Surprised at her unflinching candor, Monkeyman nodded, and she wrapped a makeshift bandage around his leg so that he wouldn't drip blood on the walls or on Miles' bed, and then descended first to offer support to her friend on his way down. “Okay, we’ll take it one step at a time and go slowly so you don‘t slip.”

Helga helped Buddy make his way down through the bedroom skylight, and once down, Helga spread the dirty fitted sheet from Miles' bed down on the floor and put a wooden chair from the corner onto it. She’d have him wrap the top sheet around his waist so that he could take off his pants, but it wasn’t sterile, and she needed something to put on top of the chair to soak up watery blood anyway.

Monkeyman made a couple of objects from the shelves around the bed tumble to the floor with his handicapped dismount from the mattress and Helga whispered forcefully to her charge, "For the love of God, please be quiet, Arnold is right underneath us!" Helga carefully cracked the door and listened for noises that would indicate her husband’s movements from the hallway downstairs before she fully opened it. "I'm going to get the first aid kit and a clean towel for you to wrap around yourself." After everything he had been through that night, Helga didn't think he possibly could be, but offered out of politeness, "Are you hungry or thirsty?"

To Helga’s surprise her guest answered with an elated grin, "I'm both!"

Taking it as a good sign that at least he had his usual appetite, Helga grinned, patted her patient's shoulder and said with a cocked eyebrow, "Alright, I’m gonna’ go get supplies and something to feed you, so don't go anywhere, Cowboy."

Helga found perverse humor in Monkeyman's rude, non-verbal single digit response as he stripped the sweat soaked hood from his head and she made her way down the bedroom steps, down to the second floor hall, tiptoeing all the way.

* * *

Miles walked into Kyo's room, but Gertie hung back, desperately trying not to look like she did not want to enter. It was not her home and the respectful girl didn't want to be weird or rude about it by saying anything about it, but Gertie truly was fearful of what was lurking inside.

Noticing such, and wishing to spare Gertie an ego crushing admission of fear, embarrassment, or a confrontation with his most exotic pet, Kyo held up his hand and said, "You know what would really help Miles right now?"

Gertie asked, "No, what?"

Kyo smiled and placed his hand on her shoulder, "Why don't you go into the bathroom and make a cool wash rag for Miles' face? I have something I need to do in here and I'll let you know when I'm done, okay?" Knowing what Kyo was kind enough to do without her asking, Gertie followed his request, and God help her, it made her love him more than she did already.

Once Gertie was down the hall and out of sight, the thoughtful boy quickly darted into his room, closed the door, and then scrambled to put a dark black cloth covering over the aquarium that housed his pet corn snake.

Despite the passage of many years, Kyo still felt bad because he was personally responsible for Gertie’s irrational fear of all snakes. To no avail, he had tried many times over the years to undo the damage done in their childhood when he placed a small green snake in her hand as a joke under the pretense of it being a surprise piece of candy.

Despite his numerous attempts to educate Gertie and show her that the vast majority of serpents were harmless, in the girl's mind, snakes were still snakes; and she wanted no part of them whatsoever.

Kyo knew with no doubt that the legless reptiles were the only things that dwelled in this world that frightened Gertrude Roberta Shortman.

Granted the girl wasn't so scared of snakes that she couldn't watch them on television engulfing some luckless rodent, or be in the same room with them if they were securely caged behind glass, like in a museum or the aquarium his room. On the other hand, though, Gertie would not tolerate one loose in her presence if he or anyone else were holding it either.

Woe to any snake Gertie stumbled upon out in the open in its natural environment however, for she would not allow the encounter pass without running away with a high-pitched scream to scramble atop the highest structure she could find while demanding for someone to kill it.

As Kyo hurried to make sure that the black cloth covered every bit of the glass aquarium, Miles joked, "Man, 'K, Gertie has you whipped." The naughty boy waved his arm, imitated the sound of a whip cracking, and then suggested, "At least you'll be ready for happily ever after with her."

Before Kyo could retort, there was a knock at his door, and unable to get revenge for his best friend's comment for the moment, the frustrated boy opened it. "C'mon in, 'Gert, it's okay." With glance towards Miles behind his back, and relief painting his voice, he added with a whisper as Gertie toted a dripping wet, cold washrag inside, "There's no reason for anyone to be up here except mom and dad, so we'll have some privacy."

As Gertie entered, a swift, fawn ticked Abyssinian cat scampered into the room. After deftly leaping onto Kyo's bed, the feline began rubbing his face and neck over everyone, and then plopped down onto the comfortable bed for petting.

Miles greeted, "Hey, Willie! How's the boy doin', huh?" The friendly cat rose and pulled himself under Miles' hand while craning his neck upwards in ecstasy as he got his ears scratched, back rubbed, and stiff the base of his erect tail massaged while sounding like an idling diesel engine.

Kyo shook his head and watched his beloved pet schmooze.

He saw the cat for the first time at the animal clinic where he worked when someone brought it in after they found it wandering the parking lot of J-Mart limping with an infected lesion on its leg and so thin that his hips and ribs were visible though its dull coat.

His employer, and one of his mother and father's childhood acquaintances, Katrinka Dodson, was going to put the cat down because it was terribly sick from the septic nature of his wound. The unfortunate animal was obviously suffering a great deal of pain and after a physical examination; Katrinka found that recovery from its serious wounds was doubtful. As his employer prepared to end the cat’s suffering, Kyo petted, and held the poor animal while speaking to it gently; wanting it to die while being loved, but miraculously, despite the misery it was in, the cat began to purr. With a heart wrenchingly weak stare, the feline looked into Kyo's, then Katrinka's eyes; gave them both a weak, raspy meow, and put his paw onto the veterinarian's hand which held the syringe full of transparent pink liquid meant to put it out of its misery.

Unable to give up on the cat after that moment, Katrinka and Kyo devoted their free time nursing it back to health. After offhandedly mentioning their elegant patient to Courtney Gammelthorpe during a conversation, she generously promised Katrinka payment for all its treatments in full, telling them to spare no expense, promising to adopt the animal when it was well if its rightful owner couldn't be found.

Over the course of his long treatment, Kyo and Katrinka tried every avenue possible to find out who owned the wayward feline, but they couldn't because he wasn't tattooed or micro-chipped. Kyo and Katrinka knew that the cat was bound to have belonged to someone at some point because he had been front de-clawed, and neutered. He couldn't have run away because of neglect or mistreatment either, the cat was well socialized, enjoyed petting, and contrary to the typical behavior of its breed, loved being held.

Despite the fact that he was more of a dog person, Kyo fell in love with the cat during the course of its treatments, and recovery. During lunch, or before scholastic competitions, Kyo would regale Courtney with information about all the progress that her charge was making and all the cute little things that the cat did daily without fail.

Eventually, when none of her office's efforts could find the feline's previous owner including contacting other area veterinary offices, an internet appeal, and posting flyers with pictures of the cat all over town, Katrinka called Courtney and said she could adopt the cat as soon as it was fully healed and properly vaccinated.

A couple of weeks later, when Courtney showed up at the veterinary office with her checkbook to claim her new pet, Kyo wasn't exactly pleased to see her, for he had become attached to the cat he already named Willie weeks before, and didn't want to give him up.

To Kyo's complete surprise however, Courtney gave him that funny little smile of hers when she was up to something, and hinted that she thought the cat would have a much better home with him if he wanted while writing a check to pay for the complete cost of its treatments.

Kyo was only too enthusiastic to take Courtney up on her generous offer too; Willie was the best gift he had ever gotten from anyone.

His father wasn't a hard sell on Willie at all because of the cat’s gregarious personality, but his mother was an entirely different matter.

When Kyo brought the animal home the first time, with no warning to boot, she was clearly not too happy with him because she liked to keep her house meticulously clean, clearly citing the drawbacks of litter boxes being messy, and the fact that cats cough up hairballs and shed.

When the cat jumped onto his mother's lap, rose up on his hind legs to rub his face on Phoebe's chin, and she petted him the first time, Willie had a warm, cozy place to call home for the rest of his life.

In fact, many times when his mother was in her study reading updates in medical procedures, studying patient files, or responding to e-mails, Willie was usually lying by her side observing Phoebe’s business, her own personal assistant. Even though the cat had a penchant for attacking papers ejecting from the printer and liked to chew on the tops of pens while his mother wrote with them, she thought Willie’s antics were utterly adorable, and tolerated his mischief more easily than she ever did his or his father’s for that matter.

Willie seemed to like every human being he ever met, but he had a special affinity for women, and Kyo gathered that whoever owned the cat before he did, was a woman. Kyo smiled when the cat left Miles' ministrations, and quickly trotted over to Gertie, and like him, Willie was completely crazy about her too, and couldn‘t stay away from her to save his life.

Watching with interest, and wishing that he could be the schmoozing feline for a fleeting moment, Kyo looked upwards while Willie got up on his hind legs to purr and rub his face on Gertie's bosom as she scratched him underneath the chin, and baby talked to him. “Who’s a sweet, handsome boy?” Gertie nuzzled the top of Willie’s head with her cheek and added with a higher pitch, “I think it’s you!”

Willie enjoyed the affection so much that he began to drool from the corner of his mouth in long colorless strings down to Gertie’s hands. With a grimace, Gertie wiped what saliva got on her hand onto the side of the cat, and Kyo motioned between Willie and the door. "Staying or leaving, Valentino?"

When Willie padded back towards Miles in interest, Kyo closed the bedroom door, and locked it to assure that there would be no intruders.

While she tried in vain to scrape away the black and fawn ticked hairs gathered on her shirt by hand, Gertie looked around at her surroundings. She hadn't been in Kyo's room over five times in her life, mostly because of what was kept squirming in a glass tank on his bookshelf over the years.

This time, though, Gertie made sure to take a good look, because this would probably be the last time she would ever see the natural environment of the boy she delighted in observing.

It was a bright, white painted room, and Kyo's shelves were filled to bursting with trophies from academic competitions, books about animals, anatomy, chemistry, and the complete works of James Herriot; not to mention trade paperbacks of all the comic books that he and she loved. He would have also had a television set and DVD player his parents offered to buy him too, but Kyo asked them not to buy them until he was to leave for college because he said he didn't need it yet.

Gertie knew the real reason he didn’t want them yet though was because it would have been harder for the meticulous boy to move all his painstakingly categorized books to make room for the electronics.

What space the books didn't take up, birthday gifts from the years in the form of action figures, comic character busts, and Star Wars memorabilia, most of which she had bought him herself, consumed the rest.

Next to the bookshelf, by his green draped window, was a computer nook complete with an office chair and a hard clear plastic runner underneath to the protect the shiny hardwood floor from being marred by the rollers of it. By the side of Kyo's computer was a frame with a large picture of her, Miles, and Kyo together with their arms around each other taken at Wankyland last summer making funny faces.

On one wall, was Kyo's collection of epee, and saber foils, three wooden bokken, and one stainless steel tachi, with a simulated hamon on the edge of the sharp blade.

On the other walls, there were posters of Albert Einstein, the Periodic Table of Elements, and a poster with the superheroes he loved, but soon enough Gertie's eyes were drawn to the masterpiece of Kyo's poster collection, and the Mona Lisa of every boy's personal Louvre taped to the ceiling.

It was the requisite poster of a greased hot chick in a leopard print string bikini that had just enough fabric to cover the all the required parts to make her legally presentable, sprawled across the hood of an exotic, shiny red Italian car with raised gull wing doors.

Kyo had his hand on his face in embarrassment for multiple reasons when he and Gertie saw Miles grinning upwards widely. In turn, Gertie rolled her eyes, and rightly guessed that her brother wasn't interested in any of the other decor in Kyo's room but that one thing.

Knowing neither boy could help themselves, and that she had a well muscled surfer boy beefcake poster pasted to the inside her own closet to sigh over, she only lightly smacked Miles' arm muttering, "Countach!" before getting to the important business at hand.

Before Gertie could begin the process of slowly bringing her clueless brother up to speed, she sniffed the aura of... dear, God, what is that... emanating from her sibling as she gently wiped Miles’ face and hair.

Willie couldn't get enough of the stench of food, that much was certain, and as the cat purred while drooling excessively, he kneaded his clawless paws on Miles' stomach while hunkered down between the boy's spread legs.

Miles pointed and cooed at the enamored cat. "Awww look! He’s makin' biscuits.” In turn, Kyo and Gertie cast one another a concerned glance when Miles added in a higher pitched voice, “Yes, that pretty boy is! He‘s makin‘some biscuits!” Completely forgetting where, and whom was present, Gertie gave her brother the funniest look and then glanced at Kyo, all the while blowing the smell of food that shouldn't ever be served together, not even to convicts, out of her nose.

Kyo laughed, then addressed his pet and Miles, "Jeez, why don’t you two get a room already?"

Before Miles could retort, Gertie tastefully observed with a wrinkled nose, "Good call on the wash rag, 'K!” She turned her attention to Miles. “No wonder why Willie’s on you!" The girl studied her smelly brother with a grimace and waving her hand in front of her face as Kyo chortled holding his sides. "Holy Toledo, that’s rank! You smell like,"

"What?" Miles interrupted sarcastically, flinging his arms upwards. "Ass?"

Willie jumped away from Miles and onto the floor, scrambling under Kyo's bed to hide, and Gertie spat as Kyo snickered, "You are an ass," Miles' face twisted at his friend’s betrayal as Gertie continued, "but you reek of rank grease, fish, and pancakes!"

Miles, responded, "Well, that's what we sell at Mr. Chicken's."

Then the girl added with a wrinkled nose, "When did they put corn chips on the menu?"

Miles crossed his arms and glared hotly at his sister remembering his hours of torment, forced to dance like a demented dervish in the hot, stinking yellow chicken suit. "Now you're just trying to piss me off."

Changing the subject in the hopes of warding off an argument that no one needed right now, Kyo requested with an upbeat voice, "Take off your top there, Buddy, and we'll get you into a nice clean shirt." As he opened his closet, he was going to select a casual, but nice button down shirt for his friend. Spying another choice, Kyo thought better of it and pulled a fresh smelling black shirt with a red symbol silk screened onto it off a hanger that he knew for sure would be both a hit and conversation starter with Courtney.

Miles observed, "I didn't know you liked Thundercats."

Kyo grinned knowingly. "The cartoon is okay, but not really my favorite." Kyo thoughtlessly mused, "This shirt was a gift from a mutual friend of ours though, and I think you'll,"

Gertie slapped Kyo's arm before he could continue, and hurriedly set about roughly swiping every area of Miles' exposed skin she could reach with the wash rag except under his arms, and that was only because he refused to lift them. In curious shock at the rare physical punishment of Gertie's precious little secret lover boy crush, Miles asked to his sister's chagrin, "Who gave the shirt to you, 'K?

Gertie glared at Kyo, continuing to rub the cloth over her brother like a carpenter might sandpaper over rough, unfinished wood.

Soon, Miles could take no more, and he finally snatched the cold cloth rag away from his sister, putting it to his side. Gertie had already scoured his face, hair, chest, arms, and back with the cold wet rag; and he was afraid that she would start scrubbing the crack of his white ass with it too; regardless of the fact that their friend was in the room, he was no longer a baby; and she was not his mother.

Kyo turned off the top light in his room leaving all of them in temporary darkness and then turned on the lamp sitting on his nightstand. After rifling through the drawer of it, and finding what he wanted after dumping almost all of the contents out on top of his bed, in a few moments Kyo produced two cylinders of pressurized scent. "Okay, Gertie, you're the only girl in the room,"

Miles poked his sister on the forearm and chortled, "Barely."

Gertie gave Miles a look that could stop a stampeding herd of wildebeest dead in its tracks as Kyo shook his head, and stated like a true gentleman, "C'mon, man, you don't say that to a lady."

Then Kyo turned to Gertie, who silently adored him for his chivalrous comment, and asked, "Which one do you think suits Miles the best? The red or the blue can?"

Gertie had her back to her brother, so as Kyo held up the spray bottles, Miles puckered his lips and made silent kissy faces at him.

Since he couldn't throw the heaviest can at Miles' head, Kyo chose to take the mature route, generously focusing on helping the ungrateful turd. After giving Gertie a miserly skeet of the red bottle first, Kyo had to admit that it wasn't his favorite, but he paid five whole dollars for it, and just couldn't justify throwing it away.

When she sniffed the spray, the girl’s face twisted while she waved her hand in front of it. With utter disgust, Gertie offered her truthful opinion. "Well I don't like that one! It smells like that roach fogger in a can you throw in a crawl space and then forget about."

In surprise, Miles Sarcastically noted, “Put this date down on your calendar, Kyo, it doesn’t smell like ass.”

Kyo managed to keep himself together and not laugh as the girl gave her brother a look, but then Gertie asked without so much as a thought, "Which one do you use all the time, 'K?” With an upturned eyebrow she ended, “I love that stuff!"

Miles gave his sister the strangest look while Kyo looked at the almost empty blue bottle; shaking it, wishing it was full. Saying nothing about it, Kyo studied Miles, then gave a couple of miserly sprays of the cologne on his friend's bare chest and then his hair so he'd have some left over for himself for later. Then Miles pulled on the black shirt Kyo lent him and Gertie began pulling a comb through his wild blonde hair, being careful not to touch the bruised flesh on his forehead and cheek.

Soon, Gertie and Kyo were giving Miles one last inspection as they turned him around in a circle on the chair. Gertie gave Miles a thumb up, and Kyo joked, "Well, your makeover is complete." He added with a fake southern accent, "You look so purty, Football Head."

Miles gave his best friend a nasty look as Kyo left the room, who in turn nodded to Gertie who wasn't finished laughing yet. Kyo knew that he should have closed the door completely, and gone outside to leave the siblings alone in privacy to talk, but he wouldn't have missed the coming convention for anything in the world.

Examining her lovesick brother gravely, Gertie knew that this was a delicate situation, to put it lightly, and she knew that Miles' future chances with Courtney would be decided with the surprise encounter between the two this evening, and she was determined to help make it a positive one.

As the girl was trying to tweeze the right things to say to her brother from her mind, Gertie paced back and forth in front of Miles deep in thought. A result, whenever Gertie was thinking on her feet, she often talked to herself, regardless of she were alone or not.

Miles in turn was looking up at his sister as if she had finally done what he knew was an eventuality, and lost her stinkin' mind.

"Okay, Miles," Gertie started with caution with her index finger on her chin, trying to ready Miles for what she figured would be the biggest shock of his young life. "I want you to listen to everything I tell you before you say anything."

Rolling his eyes at Gertie’s uncharacteristically theatrical strictures, Miles heaved a weary sigh, "Okay."

Gertie put her hand on her Miles' shoulder to brace him. "There's someone special here, and I think that you two have a lot in common."

Cutting Gertie a wary look at her unwanted matchmaking, he asked with indifference, "Who?"

Gertie held up her hands and cautioned, "When you go outside, just sit down and say hello, okay?" Miles planted his hand on his face and groaned as his sister waved a hand to the side. “Whatever you do, please don't rush over to the picnic table; get on your knees, and start begging for forgiveness like some kind of nut."

Miles gave Gertie a questioning look, "Well, everyone else is here, did Kyo invite Jesus to the barbecue too?"

Kyo, who had been eavesdropping the entire time, fell upon the side of the wall and burst out into a loud cackling laugh as Gertie slapped the hell out of her brother's shoulder. "That's sacrilegious, Asshole!" However, despite the pain, Miles simply rubbed his arm joining his best friend's laughter.

Gertie, despite Miles' humor at her expense, gently took him by the hand and led him to the window. “Look outside.”

As Miles did, all the blood drained from his face, and he forcefully shut the cracked curtains back. “Oh, my God!” The deranged looking boy ran his hands through his hair, turned to face Gertie, and then exclaimed with an arm extended towards the window, "I can't go out there and talk to her!"

Miles began to walk out of Kyo’s room with every intention of leaving the house, but Gertie caught his arm and confidently assured, "Just be yourself and you'll be fine."

With concern and forgetting every hilarious joke that she had thought up for the grand occasion, Gertie watched Miles face fall, and his lips turns downwards into a frown. With a defeated voice, Miles said, "You don't understand, after this morning I tried to talk to her again when I went for pizza and blew it real bad."

Miles sat down on the corner of Kyo's bed and looked into his sister's eyes like a man who didn't get to eat what he wanted as a last meal before his execution. With concern and curiosity, Gertie stated in a dismissive tone, with a comforting pat on his shoulder knowing how dramatic Miles could be, "Surely you didn't say or do anything that bad."

Absorbing every word from outside the closed door and analyzing Miles' tone, in the words of the love of his life, his friend was going to haul ass just as soon as he got a chance. Both Gertie and he worked too hard for this, and Kyo wasn't about to let Miles throw it away. Miraculously thinking of a way to force Miles to stay at the house, Kyo closed his bedroom door and swiftly walked down the steps to get outside and implement his plan before it was too late.

* * *

After several of Gertie’s unwanted questions and Miles’ defiant refusal to answer each one of them, the two studied one another in silence for a few moments. Miles knew that she was genuinely trying to make him feel better and help, and that there were few secrets between them, but he didn't want her knowing the true depths of his obsession either.

Miles knew that his actions in concerns to Courtney Gammelthorpe in all fifty states would probably fall under some sort of stalking law, and Gertie already knew about the shoebox that was once in his closet, and that was too much already.

There was no way in hell that he was going to tell Gertie about the soul barfing letter he wrote to Courtney, the things he gave her, and the way she sped away from him at Slausen's a few hours afterwards.

Miles got up, took one last longing look out the window towards Courtney, watched Jamie-O's boys gobbling food for a fleeting moment, and then made up his mind to leave when he got a good chance.

Courtney didn't want a damn thing to do with him and there was no reason why he should stay there tonight.

Miles wished that he were unselfish, and say he was leaving so his presence wouldn’t ruin the rest of Courtney’s evening. The real reason why he wanted to leave though was that he couldn’t bear to be near the girl he loved with all his heart because it hurt too much to know she would never feel the same way towards him.

Miles turned and acted as if he were looking out the window again so that he could lie without detection. "You should go on downstairs and get some ribs before they're all gone, I think Johnson, Peyton, and Orrell have caught their second wind because they're eating again." With a sigh, he added, "Just let me have a few moments to myself, and I'll be right down, okay?"

Gertie, not liking the tone of Miles’s voice, his mood, but not wanting to pester him about it muttered, "Well, okay. Just don‘t take too long."

* * *

Outside the natives were getting restless, and one in particular already had his mischief for the evening planned much too well for his own good. "Where's Gertie’s favorite word at?" As everyone laughed, Peyton Johannsen checked the time on his watch and looked at his brothers mischievously. "Its nine thirty, and I bet I can have her mad as a hornet in a pop bottle in less than two minutes flat!" With confidence in his skill, the incorrigible boy announced while pointing at his own watch, "Time me!"

As the three brothers laughed, the Johannsen family Hillwood branch patriarch, Gerald, sighed through his nose and asked a grand boon of his patience testing, fun loving nephews that he wasn‘t so sure they would grant. "You all like to kid around, and that’s fine, but don't tease Miles or mention his face, because he's had a really rough day." Courtney’s face whitened at the mention of the boy in question and glanced around in panic looking for him. "Also, I know you all just love to get her goat, but please, for the love of God don't make Gertie mad tonight." Gerald pointed his finger at all three boys in succession, "All three of you make up two men apiece, but she's already kicked the crap right out of three football players this morning with the greatest of ease and I'm sure that she wouldn't mind making it an even nine."

Phoebe and Courtney gave Gerald the strangest look, and he didn't know if it were for the false mathematical error, or his weak profanity. Either way, Phoebe gave her husband a light kick on the shin under the table as a reminder for him to watch his own behavior that evening.

Jamie-O snickered while Gerald rubbed his leg under the table and gave his annoying brother an ugly look as he unconsciously swiped his right earlobe to wipe away the saliva that had already dried from his brother's earlier wet willie as everyone else present began to guffaw.

Immersed in her own thoughts with her shoulders slumped downward, she tried with no success to turn invisible with the revelation that Miles Shortman was in attendance, and what was worse, she couldn‘t leave because it would be rude. Courtney was so embarrassed after how she acted towards Miles that day, and that evening too, that she had no idea what in the world was she going to say to him when they eventually met.

Of course, the girl gathered she would manage to think of something of course, and that was what frightened her the most.

Kyo walked over to the picnic table, and whispered in his father's ear, in turn, his father slipped Kyo the keys to their car, and watched as his son took off in a run towards the kitchen, skirting past Gertie who was walking out to look at him as if he was crazy.

Jamie-O's sons balled their fists, smashed them into the table and yelled in unison, "Shortman!" Then the gargantuan boys rose with their arms open to crush her in a jubilant hug when they caught sight of her, but JJ was quicker and beat the three to her, forcing them to wait their turn.

Kyo watched Gertie fondly as she hid the paper bag behind her back, kneeling down to hug JJ. "How's my favorite little buddy, huh?" She asked as she held up the open palm of her uninjured hand for the little boy to slap.

"Better now that you're here, Gorgeous! Where have you been my whole life?" JJ declared as the adults at the table laughed good naturedly, and a wide grin traced across Gertie's face, wondering where the smooth talker heard that line, as JJ wrapped his arms around Gertie's hips, while she gently stroked the side of his head. "Guess what?”

Playfully Gertie responded, “What, little man?”

JJ cheerfully announced, “I get to stay up late tonight! Can we play hide and seek like we did the last time?"

Gertie replied in excitement, "Lucky boy on the staying up late, and I don't see why we can't play a little seek and hide, Monkeyman." Courtney's eyes darted towards the two as the blonde looked down at the little boy with a wink, Timberly, John, Phoebe, and Gerald watching in interest while smiling warmly. "Close your eyes, and hold out your hands, Kiddo." JJ closed his eyes, and then covered them with his hands. "No, Baby," Gertie suggested, "hold out your hands with your eyes closed."

JJ complied, and as the adults chuckled, Gertie placed the neatly folded bag onto JJ's hands. "Okay, you can look now." Gertie said with excitement, hoping that he liked what she bought for him.

The boy opened his eyes, then the crisp brown bag and took out two comic books sealed in neatly taped plastic bags with white cardboard paper backers inside. So tickled to have a special gift from one of his most favorite people in the world, JJ jumped up and yelled, "WhooHoo, Mommy! Mommy! John! Look what Gertie got me!" Then JJ ran to his parents’ sides to show them his presents.

Timberly scooped JJ into her warm embrace and studied the books. "Super Squirrel and the Abdicator?" The woman regarded her excited son and then asked mindfully, “That’s very nice, but did we remember to say the magic words, Sweetie?"

JJ ran over to Gertie, she scooped him up into her arms, and he gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you!" Then the ecstatic little boy ran back to the picnic table to open his prizes, and flip through the pages.

Peyton, Orrell, and Johnson, who had been waiting as patiently as they could; seized the opportunity, jumped up, and encircled Gertie in a triangular hug of muscle as they picked her up and hauled her to the picnic table, but she was too busy laughing to make any threats of being let go or else. When they put the girl down, she asked wickedly, "So, when do I kick all your butts at football?"

Phoebe raised an eyebrow and secretly studied the terribly swollen condition of her goddaughter’s hand.

Meanwhile...

Kyo cackled like a maniac while he backed his parent's new station wagon out of the garage, pulled around the driveway, and successfully blocked in Miles and Gertie's car, knowing that he had all of Miles' possible escape routes successfully blocked.

Miles couldn't cut and run from the back yard because he would be questioned, and all of his mother's dry, dying bonsai trees thoroughly blocked the patio door. The only way the Shortman could get to the front door was jump out of the window in the attic or to go through the kitchen. Even if he made it that far, Kyo knew that there was no way in hell Miles was going anywhere in the car unless he drove through the yard, over his father's precious grass.

The clever boy knew that not even God would make that trespass if he could help it, and surely Miles wouldn‘t dare such a desperation move either.

Rather pleased with his cleverness, Kyo looked in the rearview mirror of the station wagon, pointed, smiled, and then said to himself, "You're scary sometimes."

* * *

Miles looked out of Kyo's bedroom window, ducking down when Gertie impatiently turned to look up at it. When he felt it was safe, Miles carefully cracked the curtains and peered out once more, relieved to see that Gertie and everyone else was once again occupied by eating and conversation, everyone except Courtney. She was sipping a soda, quiet as ever, looking around while surreptitiously checking her watch as like he, she too sought a tactful way to make a break for it.

Hating that Courtney didn't look like she was having much of a good time and seemed to want to be out of there as badly as he did; Miles stealthily made his way through the hall to the stairs, silently creeping down it so he wouldn't make a sound.

Outside, Kyo watched Miles peek into the kitchen and slip past the opening towards the front door, and even though he was irritated with Miles, he couldn't help but giggle at his idiotic friend‘s sneaking stance, and yes, his own cleverness.

Gertie looked up from the delicious food she intensely enjoyed, and gave Kyo a strange look, then asked, “What’s so funny?” Then with a touch of her nose, she asked with concern, "Do I have sauce on my face or something?"

Kyo chortled and whispered again, "No, but I do believe that the other Shortman twin is trying to make a break for it."

The angry girl tried not to make a scene, but Gertie’s nostrils flared as she slapped her napkin down on the table rather hard, disregarding the intense pain that radiated in her injured hand from the action.

Everyone else at the table was chatting except Courtney who sat opposite Kyo and Gertie, and she wondered what could make Gertie who was so happy a few seconds ago; look perfectly capable of committing an act of murder right then.

The irritated girl was in the process of rising from her seat, but Kyo put his hand on Gertie's leg stopping her, shook his head, leaned over, and whispered into her ear, "He isn't going anywhere. I blocked in your car." Kyo winked at his friend, and the two of them burst out into wicked laughter.

Gertie admitted while pointing her finger towards his chest, "I don’t say it enough, but you are a stinkin’ genius, Kyo Johannsen!" After a few moments passed and the laughter died down between the two, Gertie raised an eyebrow at her friend, motioning with her eyes down to his hand and then back into his lovely eyes. Only then did it slowly dawn on Kyo that his wide, warm hand was still firmly gripping the middle of her smooth, naked thigh, his fingers a quarter the way down the inside.

Both young people were blushing as Kyo immediately pulled his hand off her well-toned leg clearing his throat while both looked upwards and away from one another. Then Kyo and Gertie turned to look in front of themselves, greeted by a small, sideways smile and cocked eyebrow on the face of Courtney. In response, Gertie cleared her throat, and Kyo got up, finding something that he urgently needed to tend to by the fence.

* * *

"Damn it, that double freakin' asshole!" Miles said with frustration running his hands through his hair with his keys in his right hand while looking at the station wagon that had his car blocked in. For the most fleeting of moments, Miles considered driving through the yard, but his uncle Gerald would kill him if he did, and then his mom and dad would yell at the smoking remains of his body.

As Miles wondered what to do to get away from there, Kyo stuck his head over the side of the fence and asked in a charming tone, obviously satisfied with the monkey wrench he had thrown in his best friend's plans. "Hey, you're not leavin' are ya'?" Miles upper lip turned into a defiant sneer and his teeth gritted together for a growl as Kyo laughed, "C'mon, Man, the ribs are almost gone!"

Miles spat in anger like a cartoon villain, "I'll get you for this someday!"

Kyo grinned, pointed at his friends' car, and whispered, "That's for saying 'Gert's got me whipped."

As his mischievous friend dropped to the ground on the opposite side of the fence, Miles considered walking home just to spite Kyo, but he was tired, hungry, and thirsty. With a sigh, Miles trudged back up the long driveway to the Johannsens' front door cursing his best friend under his breath with every step.

* * *

In the backyard, she hadn't eaten anything yet because she was thirstier than anything else, but looking at the four empty twelve ounce Yahoo soda bottles neatly lined up in front of her, Courtney regretted being so greedy, because everything she had to drink sneaked back up on her with hateful vengeance.

As she crossed her legs and nervously looked around, Courtney thought that she hadn't wet herself since she was a little kid, but that evening she just might break with tradition, and wondered if she would be able to make it to the restroom in time. Soon enough, Courtney made her excuses and tried to walk with some dignity towards the house instead of running as she urgently felt like she needed to.

* * *

A few minutes later, after his long walk of shame back up the driveway and back into the house, Miles walked past the foyer into the kitchen, and saw his smirking friend's face through the open kitchen door. Now, not with so much anger but with frustration at being outsmarted, Miles muttered to himself, "I swear to God, I'm gonna' kill him." Miles glowered at Kyo from the kitchen across the yard when he shot him one thumb up, but quit when he saw Gertie cover her smile with a hand.

At first, Miles thought it was because she was trying to hide her laughter from him, but when Gertie gripped Kyo's sleeve; to him the gesture was more akin to that of a mother who had caught her child doing something utterly adorable, rather than to jeer at him.

It was somewhat creepy, but before the questioning boy could think of why his sister was acting in such an uncharacteristically matronly manner, Miles heard an angelic voice question behind him, "You’re gonna’ kill who?"

Miles whipped his head around, and in the doorway of the kitchen stood the lovely, breathtakingly gorgeous, incredibly sweet girl he was in love with wearing the black pullover he returned to her earlier in the day. "Nobody." Was the only word he could choke out as an abashed grin and hot blush crawled across his face, now oblivious to any audience.

They stood in the kitchen for a few seconds looking at one another and then the floor searching for something to say, but it fell to Courtney to break the silence as she focused on Miles’ lovely blue eyes. "Miles, I just want to say thank you so much for bringing my pullover back to me. It means more to me than you can know!" The panicked thoughts of should she or shouldn't she ran though her head, but soon a resounding screw it, made up her mind for her.

Without further thought or hesitation, Courtney lunged forward, and flung her slender arms around Miles, pinning his arms to his sides as she hugged him tightly. The sudden movement and shift in his balance made him take a step back, but then as her cheek pressed into his chest, Miles could have died at that moment a happy man as Courtney spoke again, snuggling him tighter. "I thought it was gone, lost forever, that someone had stolen it, and that I would never see it again."

Unable to think for the most fleeting of moments, the boy inhaled the scent of Courtney’s perfumed hair while simultaneously looking outside as Gertie and Kyo tried with little success to act as they were not watching the events unfold with wide, satisfied grins.

Miles blurted out a hasty explanation. "I took the pullover with me this morning so no one else would take it." It wasn’t exactly untrue, Miles had absconded with the article earlier not knowing exactly what its fate would be, but he was glad he did take it so he could ultimately return it to Courtney. As the girl’s embrace slackened, he wondered if he should reciprocate Courtney's embrace, and wrap his arms around her or not.

He wanted to, but Miles safely settled for placing his hand on her back as she looked up at him and smiled. "I don't know if you know," Courtney said with caution as she squinted an eye at him, "and it seems like you know an awful lot about me," Miles' face turned red as Courtney continued, "My mom bought this pullover for me before she got sick so I would be warm on early morning runs."

Miles blushed at the selfish thoughts he had of keeping the pullover for himself earlier in the day after learning of its real importance, and he was so grateful to his mother for her influence over this matter that afternoon.

Miles nodded, gazed deeply into the haunted grey green eyes that he could never tire of gazing into, and said solemnly, "No, I didn't know that." He then added, "I, well, it was the least I could do for you." Then the boy simply said, "You're welcome, Courtney."

The grateful girl gave him one last warm squeeze, and then her tone turned more serious as she released him. Already missing the warmth of her svelte body against his, Miles listened intently as she spoke again, "Thank you also for defending me this morning." In addition, the girl added with genuine shame, "It was awful the way I treated you in the hall when our parents came to pick us up too." Miles' was in shock, he deserved every bit of what he got and then some, so why was she apologizing to him he questioned internally. "I never should have yelled at you and said those horrible, terrible things about," The girl's face got redder as she gently brushed both her hands over his chest where she had struck him. Realizing the magnitude of what she had suggested, especially after the death of her own mother, Courtney quietly ended, "I certainly had no right to hit you either, and I am so, so sorry, Miles."

Truthfully, Miles said, “It’s okay, really.”

Courtney shook her head. “No it isn’t!” The apologetic girl looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole. "I’m a complete fool for having acted like that no matter what you did, and it was ungrateful for me to have driven away from you like I did tonight in front of Slausen's too in lieu of everything that you‘ve done for me today." Then Courtney assured as she looked into his blue eyes, "It wasn't because of you though, but me."

Courtney released Miles as he shook his head. "It's like I said earlier, you don't owe me an apology for anything." The boy said with sincerity as he took a chance and brushed away a hair that was threatening to fall into her eye. "I'm sorry too." The boy added with fresh shame with his heart laid open for her to judge the truthfulness of, "For everything, Courtney." Miles rubbed his forearm nervously, “I hope you don’t think I’m weird because of that letter too.”

Courtney smiled then joked, "Oh, I know you're weird, Miles Shortman." The boy looked down, but his eyes jerked back to hers when she took his hand gently in hers, which shocked him. Her hand was soft, but instead of the icy cold skin he felt that morning when he tried to take her hand the first time, her slender fingers were soothingly warm.

Then, to his surprise, she stepped closer to him, raising her lovely eyes upwards, past the slender, golden eyeglass frames that accentuated her intelligent beauty, and seemed to delve into the very essence of his soul with them, and Miles' heart leapt at the wonderful feeling of her touch.

His heart pounding, waiting for her to say something, Miles was scared as Courtney parted her lips to speak. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the lovely girl said in the soft voice that he loved so dearly, "Everybody makes mistakes; goodness knows I’ve made quite a few myself, so I suppose I can forgive you if you will forgive me."

Silently Miles nodded agreement, and with a light slap on his shoulder and a smile, the boy looked at Courtney strangely, as she turned to walk away. His head turned to the side quizzically when Courtney looked back at him with her thumb pointed in behind her towards the backyard, "Kyo saved some ribs for you by the way, beef and pork, and they await your attention on the grill."

As Courtney walked away with a sideways smile on her face, Miles froze to the spot as he ran everything that just happened through in his mind in disbelief.

She had just completely forgiven him, everything he ever did over the years to hurt her was forgotten in less than a minute. Though she joked about it, Courtney didn't say anything bad about the letter he composed for her either, which meant that now she knew how he felt, and she hadn't rejected him outright.

His crushing sadness and guilt replaced by a light giddiness enveloping his insides, Miles thought that now he had hope, sure they would probably be friends first, but hopefully they would meander into a romantic relationship at some point.

Courtney Gammelthorpe as his girlfriend, there was an idea Miles Shortman liked, but the lovesick boy snapped out of his wonderful, romantic thoughts by the girl poking her head back through the door. "Are you coming, Miles? You're hungry aren't you?"

Despite the fact that it hurt, Miles' face cracked into a wide grin, "I'm always hungry!" As he quickly followed the slender brunette outside to fill a plate with food alongside her, he pointed at his swollen face. "I like your frames."

As she put the biggest rib left on the grill onto his plate, Courtney commented, "I love your shirt."

Watching from the picnic table as his best friend and Courtney chatted, Kyo shook his head, looked at Gertie, leaned down to whispered while observing, "Well, I’ve witnessed another Gertrude Shortman miracle."

Gertie shrugged as her brother and new friend approached the table, then sat down beside each other and began to eat. Gertie simply responded to Kyo exactly as her mother frequently did to her father with a confident shrug, "Hey, I'm awesome like that."

Peyton looked down the table in impatience at his friends as Courtney and Miles sat down next to each other and began to eat. "When are we playing football?"

Gertie balled her fist and shook it, "We'll be more than happy to kick the," Gertie looked to her other side and saw JJ looking up at her in adoration as she considerately censored herself, "Snot out of you after the lovebirds are done eatin'!"

As the whole table laughed and looked at them, Miles and Courtney dropped their food filled hands from their mouths, and gave Gertie a look as JJ pointed and laughed.

The irascible Gertie shrugged and asked, "What?"

* * *

With stealth worthy of her patient upstairs, Helga slinked past the door of Arnold's study gripping a small blue bag and a white bath towel, wishing to the core of her soul that Arnold were listening to MJZZ right now.

Of course, any other time, the radio would be on loud enough to wake the dead. However, the internally cursing woman figured that it was so freakin’ convenient that the one time she needed some noise in the hallway to cover the creaking of the floor boards and joists under her footsteps, Arnold's study was so quiet you that could hear a mouse fart.

Helga brushed her unruly bangs out of her face for the millionth time in fifteen minutes, stuffed the white towel she snatched out of the bathroom into the handles of the small duffel bag she got out of the hallway closet, and as silently as allowed, climbed the steps back into Miles' room. "Here!" Helga whispered harshly as she tossed Monkeyman the towel, "Take your britches off and put this around you."

The woman turned her back and then peeked out the cracked door checking for the presence of her husband while the vigilante stripped off his thin spandex pants, and let them roll around his ankles. With a sigh, the man draped the towel around his waist, and adjusted the open vertical ends to hide his crotch, but so his thigh was exposed. "I'm done." The man whispered.

Surprised at his speed, Helga gave the man a studious look up and down, "Boy, that was quick." Then asked slyly, "You've done this before, haven't you?"

Blushing because he really had, and for the exact reasons his perverted friend was insinuating, Monkeyman gave Helga a dirty look as he sat back down on the chair.

Helga examined his wound one last time, held it apart with her fingers, then took the second syringe with lidocaine in it; shooting a thin stream into the wound once more. "There's no harm in gilding the lily a little."

The man rolled his eyes as Helga turned to go back downstairs. "The coffee should be ready right now, and Arnold bought a big black forest cake this afternoon, so I'll bring you a piece of that, okay?"

The man chortled, "He went to the warehouse store hungry again, huh?"

“That’s not all he bought!” Helga flung her arms up towards the ceiling in frustration. “He went out and bought a bunch of crazy stuff again, like shrimp ramen, a big ass tube of hamburger, chicken wings, diet soda, and even **more** toilet paper! God, I don‘t even know where he‘ll put more toilet paper, everywhere else is full!” Monkeyman sniggered as she huffed indignantly, “We were also the proud owners of two gallons of mayonnaise that goes out of date next week too, but I palmed one of them off on Dr. Johannsen so now all I need to do is get rid of the other one.”

Chortling at Arnold’s exponentially growing toilet paper supply, Monkeyman chortled, “You know Phoebe’s gonna’ get you back for that.”

“I know, I’ll have it coming.” Helga shamelessly implored, “There’s no way we’ll eat it all in time, do you want some mayonnaise to take home with you too?”

Monkeyman’s nose wrinkled, but thankfully he had a viable excuse. “I would, but my cholesterol is high again.”

Helga mused, “Maybe Park can use it.”

Monkeyman quietly roared, “Hell no you better not give it to him! I eat there all the time, he’ll try to make some kind of house special soup with it, and then he’ll try to make me taste it to see if it’s good!”

Helga sighed and snuck back downstairs closing the door behind her. Left alone and feeling rather anxious about what was coming, in the corner of the room, Monkeyman spied a shelf full of Transformers that had none of the weapons with their corresponding robots. While he waited for outpatient surgery and dessert, Monkeyman began to place the right weapons with the correct robot, but soon enough the exercise degenerated into play.

* * *

Downstairs in the kitchen, Helga went on ahead and filled the white coffee cup she placed on the counter a quarter of the way full with sugar, even then wondering if it was enough. Her interesting friend ate more sugar than Arnold ever thought about imbibing and had no idea why he wasn't diabetic. After doing that, she quietly got a small plate down out of the cabinet, opened up a drawer to retrieve a fork, and placed it on the counter on top of a paper napkin.

With a sigh, Helga pried the noisy plastic top of the cake dome off, beseeching God almighty not to let Arnold hear, but her prayers went unanswered because like a ranch hand to a ringing dinner bell, Arnold darted into the kitchen with a knowing grin. "It is good cake, isn't it, Pop Tart?" Helga cut a slice and placed it on the plate as neatly as she could because she believed in a nice presentation and then the man remarked about the coffee that had just finished brewing with a kiss to her temple. "It's not like you to fix a pot this late, Honey." With a smirk, Arnold indulged in a self-serving theory as he caressed the sides of her hips from behind. “So, tell me, is a there a particular reason why you don’t want to sleep tonight?”

Helga rolled her eyes and poured some of the black liquid into the cup she had prepared for their hidden guest and gave Arnold the first excuse that sprang to mind. "I just wanted some coffee is all." She meandered verbally while looking upwards as a small noise came from above, and Helga tapped the fork on the counter to sort of cover for it. "Just because, you know, sometimes I like to have some coffee just for the heck of it." Helga tittered with a plastic grin.

“Uh, huh.” Arnold answered suspiciously. In the mood to irritate her a little as she used to do to him when they were dating, he cleverly snatched the coffee cup away from the counter. "I'm on a roll, so I might as well write until I'm blocked, and the caffeine will help." Then Arnold took a sip out of the steaming cup before Helga could protest.

Contrary to irritating her, Arnold ran over to the sink and spat out the over-sweetened coffee as if it were deadly poison while making a terrible face and pouring the contents of the white cup out into the sink. The liquid flowed out freely enough, but the brownish sugar coating the bottom oozed out of the bottom of the cup like quicksand. "God, woman, I felt the enamel sliding off my teeth!" With one last spit the surprised man asked, "When did you start taking a truckload of sugar in your coffee?"

When Arnold turned his back to rinse his mouth with water from the tap, Helga quickly slopped another cup of coffee with an equal amount of sugar into a clean cup, and then escaped into the darkness of the hallway with the plate of cake without an answer.

"Helga?" Arnold queried as he noticed that he had been inadvertently talking to himself the whole time. He stood on one leg holding onto the molding of the door to peer past it, saw that the hall was dark, and that his wife was nowhere in sight. “Honey?” Shrugging it off, Arnold walked back into the kitchen and eyed the uncovered cake his wife neglected to put back into the refrigerator.

Greedily deciding that one more piece couldn't possibly hurt, Arnold plucked off a cherry, sucked it off the stem, and then threw it towards the sink. His aim missed, but instead of cleaning after himself, Arnold sliced off a large wedge of cake onto his hand, not even bothering to get a plate to put it on.

* * *

Monkeyman froze as Helga walked back into the bedroom and she didn't know if she should laugh or be worried at the sight of nearly middle-aged man having an aerial dogfight with robots making both laser blast and death noises.

"Okay, Buddy, playtime is over!" The woman said with humor as her friend put the largest Transformer down in his lap, but accidentally dropped the other making it tumble towards the front of the door. No longer concerned about the toy when he saw the piece of cake and coffee, he reached for them; and after a hasty expression of thanks, began eating greedily.

Glad he was distracted, after doing the preparatory shaving, and disinfecting procedures for the wound area, Helga donned her third fresh pair of gloves of that evening, threaded a curved needle held in a pair of tweezers, and cautioned, "Don't look down while I do this, okay?"

Her patient mumbled with a full mouth, "I'm good; I got cake to look at." Helga sighed as she set to work on his wound and Monkeyman felt an odd tugging sensation on his flesh that he would never get used to as long as he lived. While Helga made non-sequential looping sutures in his skin, she shook her head as Buddy loudly slurped his coffee, and gobbled down his cake as she continued her work. Shaking her head, Helga noted, "I'm glad you're not stressed out, but how in the world can you eat while I'm doing this?"

Monkeyman answered with another full mouth, and a naughty grin, "‘Cause its good cake, Pop Tart."

She loved her friend, that much was true, and would do anything in this world to help him if she possibly could, but Helga would also be glad when he was gone too.

* * *

After he had covered his sweet, creamy pleasure back up so it wouldn't dry out, Arnold sat down at the kitchen table and ate his fifth helping of the rich confection for the day. While shamelessly gorging on cake, Arnold noticed that his second gallon of marked down mayonnaise wasn't sitting by the pantry door as it had been earlier in the evening. Thinking maybe Helga had put it on a shelf, the curious man got up, walked inside the pantry to turn on the light and search for it.

When Arnold didn't find it, he checked the refrigerator, and saw that the cracked gallon he opened that day was still inside. After hearing footfalls on the floor above his head, Arnold knew Helga hadn't gone to bed yet, but was still in Miles' room for some reason.

Arnold cut his squinted eyes upwards at the ceiling that his childhood bedroom was above, and walked out of the kitchen after washing his hand off.

He bet that Helga gave the second gallon to either Miles or Gertie; probably Gertie to take to Gerald and Phoebe's to get rid of it. Arnold wasn't angry with Gertie, she was just doing her mother’s dirty work, but he upset with Helga though, because it was rare when anyone could get a whole gallon of mayonnaise for only two dollars, and she was going to hear about it!

As Arnold nearing the steps that led to Miles' room, he could hear voices and he thought that perhaps Helga was talking to herself. As he got closer, through the closed door, he heard two distinct voices speaking, then saw intermittent light, and shadow pass from underneath the crack of the bottom of the bedroom door.

His intuition screamed for him to turn, walk away, and pretend this never happened, but instead of heeding its wise advice, his curiosity got the better of him, and as he once did when he was a small child, Arnold got down on his hands and feet to stealthily crawl up the steps to eavesdrop. Three quarters of the way up, Arnold heard the un-mistakable voice of his wife whispering, "I can't make it, and it’s too big to fit.”

The male voice answered, "Well make it go in, it‘ll stretch."

"If I force it in, it will hurt too much and maybe tear." Helga exhaled with frustration.

In response, a muted, but extremely masculine voice that was not his son's suggested, "Well, try rubbing some grease on it, it should slip in easier."

Helga negatively responded, "Then it will be too slick, and I won't be able to keep my hands on it.”

After seeing shadows move under the crack of Miles’ room, Arnold heard, “Here, I'll try moving it like this, that way it won’t pull it out too fast."

Arnold's head backed away in disbelief, but then he crawled up the last few steps to the door, and placed his ear on it. There was silence for a few seconds, and he wondered if he was just imagining things, but then a relieved masculine voice sighed, "That feels so much better." Then Monkeyman cautioned, "Just do it slow like that and don't yank so hard.” He ended facetiously, “I want to enjoy it.”

Not caring to be silent anymore, Arnold flung open the door and burst into his son's room with the intention of finding out just what in the hell was going on with his wife and some guy. When he saw the spectacle before him, his eyes widened; and he froze to the spot, struggling to take everything in and make sense of it.

An affair Arnold could handle, but this?

This was just fucked up.

His wide-eyed wife froze in surprise with her teeth clenched together, kneeling next to a strange, half-naked man wearing one of the “good towels” around his waist that no one in the house could touch because it was supposedly too pretty to use.

A good-sized spot of diluted blood was already soaked into it and Arnold knew that if he had done it, Helga would throw a fit.

Speaking of the devil, she had two rubber gloves on and was precariously steadying herself as she kneeled next to the man with her left hand on his thigh, which in turn was no more than two inches away from his barely covered crotch. In Arnold's estimation, however, that wasn't nearly as bothersome as the red, blood covered gloved right hand held out to her side in mid air.

Obviously, Helga was dragging light blue plastic thread through the man's skin like a piece of living cloth with tweezers and a curved needle so evil looking, that Torquemada would have been ashamed to have used it to extract a confession from an alleged heretic.

Then the shocked husband’s eyes focused on the gentleman caller Helga was entertaining, whom Arnold assumed was Hillwood City’s masked vigilante, The Monkeyman.

That crazy jackass was sitting in the middle of the floor in his old bedroom on a chair covered with bed sheets, eating a gigantic double slice of his cake, and drinking coffee out of his favorite royal blue coffee mug while staring at him with what seemed to be guarded concern.

Not with so much concern that he couldn't manage to cram another massive forkful of cake into his mouth though, complete with a plump red cherry with the stem still attached.

As Monkeyman chewed and swallowed what might be his last meal, he looked into Arnold's neutral green eyes and wondered if he were going to beat the life out of him for being in the presence of his wife with no pants or underwear on in the middle of the night or not.

Monkeyman thought a redeeming feature might be that he still did have on his athletic supporter, but that probably wouldn’t hold up in a court of law.

Even though Helga was an extremely beautiful woman both in and out, his relationship with her was purely platonic, it was true that over the years Arnold’s wife had touched his body in a state of partial undress plenty of times, but it wasn't in any sort of way that was fun or pleasurable for either of them.

Helga noticed that Arnold's eyes focused on her and she began to open her mouth to utter something, anything in the attempt to try to explain herself, he held up both his hands with his head turned to the side signifying to her that there was no need.

Still staring at the unbelievable scene, Arnold stepped over one of his son's collectibles on the floor and then several of the damp, balled up paper towels as he walked backwards, simultaneously feeling behind his back for the doorknob.

Arnold eventually found the round object, grasped it with his clammy hand, backed down the steps, and when he had enough distance between himself and the doorway, closed it shut, leaving Helga and Monkeyman alone, still frozen to the positions that Arnold had found them in, still immersed in silence.

Unable to say anything, but breathing hard with worry because she had just been caught in the biggest mess she ever had in her entire life, Helga looked up at her friend desperately beseeching him to tell her everything would be okay.

At the moment, she thought that Arnold would either forgive her, or kick her out that very night and ask for a divorce, because from the way she saw things then, Helga reasoned there was no in between now that the secret was out.

Not knowing what to say about the events that had just transpired, Monkeyman shoved the last piece of the delicious dessert he was relishing into his mouth and tapped the edge of his plate with the fork. "Arnold took it better than I thought he would; can I have some more of that cake?"

Helga looked at the man incredulously, and even though he was hurt badly, she still slapped his arm anyway because he damn well deserved it.

"You're mean to me!" The incorrigible man whined as he gave Helga a nasty look, and rubbed his smarting shoulder.

"Physical therapy." Helga retorted with ire.

* * *

JJ looked at Gerald and asked, "Tell a story to us!" The boy grinned with his tiny teeth together, "Pleeeeeease, Uncle Gerald?"

John craned his head to look up the table, "Yeah!" The man suggested, "I got it! Let's hear one of your old legends, you haven't told one of those in forever."

Gerald questioned everyone, "Well, which one do you all want to hear? One Eyed Jack, The Ghost Bride, Headless Cabbie, Monkey Cat?" Gerald's voice trailed off. “Queen Midas’ applesauce beat down?”

After hearing the last option, Miles’ head popped up from his plate and Gertie looked up from the table at their adopted uncle as they both shouted a resounding, “No!”

As Kyo laughed and Courtney gave the Shortman siblings a funny look, JJ gripped Gerald's arm, shook it, and begged, "Tell Monkeyman! That's my favorite!"

Phoebe pursed her lips and tried not to smile when Courtney's food filled fork stopped in midair and she cut her eyes towards Gerald.

Gerald looked at Phoebe with a huge grin. "So be it! Sid’s on tour with Brainy, so if you would, gorgeous, please lead me in."

Phoebe rose, tucked her hands behind her back and lead off with a lovely preface. "The tale of the Monkeyman is one of the most famous legends of Hillwood City and since Gerald is the keeper of the tales, he is beholden to recount the history of Hillwood's most secretive citizen."

Everyone at the table clapped at Phoebe's stylish introduction, and as Gerald got up on the picnic table to stand, Courtney suddenly found her plate intensely interesting.

Gerald announced, "In the silver age of Hillwood City," He added cautiously, "Which was about forty years ago, there was not a soul who hadn't either caught a glimpse of, or heard the fearful cry of Monkeyman proudly reverberating off the buildings and alleyways of his city." Gerald extended his arm and hand, waving it to his side, covering his field of vision.

"The first Monkeyman was a brave champion of the people who sought no reward or notoriety for his good deeds, finding fulfillment in selflessly protecting the weak and downtrodden citizens of this fair city from crime and theft." Gerald put his fist on his heart and looked down to his side, "Like us all though, Monkeyman began to age and he could no longer climb up fire escapes and leap from building to building like a flipped out chimpanzee."

Like a preacher delivering a sermon about the torments of Hell on a flaming roll, Gerald's story picked up pace. "Without Monkeyman patrolling the streets as regularly as he once did before, bicycles were stolen, hard-working people were mugged, innocent children were picked on." With grave tenor, and a dramatic flair, the keeper of the tales bent his knee, and put his foot on the edge of the picnic table while making a grandiose, upwards pulling gesture with his arms, he announced with a dark tone, "Worst of all, atomic wedgies were given with impunity."

Phoebe giggled and put her hand on her mouth as she watched her man play to the gathering of family in his element, which was the center of attention of course. Obviously, there was no wonder whatsoever why Gerald was such a good drug representative, because with his oratory skills, he could sell a set of brand new radial tires and a spare to a man who didn't even own a car. Gerald got up onto the picnic table to stand on the flat of it, with his feet facing Courtney. "Just when things looked their bleakest for the innocent citizens of Hillwood City, another brave man stepped forward, and in time, he took up the mantle of the Monkeyman."

Phoebe looked at everyone at the table and they were all entranced by Gerald's story, all except for Courtney who had stopped eating to shift uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench while looking around. Courtney caught Phoebe's eye, and to her shock, for some reason the tiny woman gave her a smile and wink as Gerald held up his arm and index finger.

"With the utmost faith and knightly honor, the second Monkeyman has upheld the grand tradition of the first for over twenty years by protecting the weak and downtrodden of his beloved city.” With no small amount of venom for the current chief of police, Gerald continued. “Instead of being lauded as the selfless hero he is, now our beleaguered savior is unjustly vilified, and mercilessly hunted like a dog by the very ones he would seek to aid in their mission to serve and protect the innocent citizens of Hillwood City." Then Gerald added with admiration, "Yet, our noble Monkeyman still toils to keep us all safe despite the threat to his own safety and freedom, and through his nightly dedication, he demonstrates what it is to be a true champion through his actions of love and sacrifice."

Gerald began to wind down, "No matter the dangers he will face in the future, or the unfair slings and arrows he may be further subjected to by ignorant parties, Monkeyman will always hold dear to his heart the protection of the good and honest people of this fair city, and never betray his unspoken promise to each of them. I ask all of you here tonight to support and defend Hillwood's dark protector if the need ever arises as this house does." Catching Phoebe's raised eyebrow, Gerald wrapped up the story neatly. "Keep looking up, for someday, one of you may hear the battle cry of the fearless man known as," Gerald got down on one knee in front of Courtney, draping his arm across it, tilting his head in a dramatic movement while ending the tale. "The Monkeyman."

Everyone at the table applauded, Courtney included as a blush and abashed grin wound across her face. Gerald bowed, but as he climbed down from the table, Phoebe gave him a look as he shrugged, then sat back down to finish his half-eaten chocolate cake and half cup of lukewarm coffee.

While Jamie-O, and his three boys were devouring the remains of a double layer chocolate cake between them, Gerald, Phoebe, Kyo, Courtney, Gertie, Miles, John, and Timberly were finishing eating themselves while chatting about various things until the subject of college sprang up.

Taking the opportunity, Phoebe shifted forward and looked down the table to focus on Courtney. Even though she had been to their house on numerous occasions, she still didn't know the first thing about her hobbies, much about what she liked other than music and running, or even where she was going to study at school the following fall. Extremely curious about the latter because of her scholastic achievements that were on par with hers, Phoebe focused on the shy girl. "Kyo tells me you've been accepted to State college next year, Courtney, and I’m curious as to what you’re going to major in?"

Miles took a surprised glance at the girl sitting next to him whispering with happy excitement, “You are?”

Courtney nodded at Miles, and then focused on Mrs. Johannsen, "I'm trying to get into State's music program, but I haven't been accepted yet." She hated to admit the truth of the matter. "Actually, I am having quite a bit of trouble getting in." The girl sighed, "I interned for the Hillwood symphony trying to get my foot in the door at State with some experience, and the conductor knows the admissions staff for the music department, so he wrote me a letter of recommendation. Still, the program is extremely popular and spots are limited, so admissions have to be selective about who is accepted. Added to that, I also have to contend with a larger pool of people competing for limited space, including out of state students." Courtney commented with a neutral tone knowing how much money her parents had donated to the State College Alumni building fund to make her look even more attractive, which totaled in the thousands. "Even with help." Courtney shrugged, "I'm still going to go to State to take my prerequisite courses, and while I'm doing that, I will still try to get into the music program even if I'm not accepted by the fall of next year.

Phoebe nodded; she too had experience with the fight for acceptance into the classes she needed to pursue her chosen career. "Well, I want to tell you," Phoebe addressed all the young people at the table, "All of you, never take no for an answer or give up. If you're rejected or ignored, you do whatever you can to make whoever makes the decisions notice you!" Then the kind woman spoke from experience. "When I decided to specialize and become an Obstetrician, I had volunteering at Hillwood General as a credit. I also had both doctors and educators willing to write letters of recommendation for me, I had top scores on tests, and straight A marks across the board, but when it came to the Gynecology department, I just couldn't find an opening."

Gerald put down the bottle of Yahoo he was drinking from roughly, and sort of choked on the sweet carbonated liquid as he gave his wife a funny look.

Phoebe poked her index finger through the air horizontally as she proudly declared, "Finally, I just pushed my way in."

Everyone became suddenly silent and turned to look at Phoebe, even Jamie-O and his boys quit eating to stare at his wife incredulously. Gerald thought nothing could make them do that, but evidentially the un-intended sexual innuendo did the trick, as all four of them started laughing and slapping the table.

John, Timberly's husband, just as immature as the others, was already hiding his chocolate covered lips while he laughed along side his brother in law and nephews at the other end of the table both silently and helplessly.

Timberly rolled her eyes and muttered, "Lord, give me strength." She placed her forehead in her hands, and sighed deeply, but that only made John laugh even more, and despite her best attempts, Timberly eventually joined in, albeit more quietly.

Further, up the table, Gertie looked at Kyo, and he wasn't laughing, but instead looking at his mother as if she was snorting a cereal bowl full of bad wasabi up into her nose with a straw.

Knowing who to be concerned about, the wise girl focused on her brother. True to form, the immature boy was red faced and grinning, but to her complete surprise, he was trying to keep from bursting out in laughter like everyone else at the table, astutely gathering that it was for the benefit of Courtney.

Gertie then looked at Courtney, and it was shocking what she saw.

The shy, usually quiet, reserved girl was biting the inside of her lower lip shaking, her eyes closed. She had her fingers pushed up underneath the frames of her glasses trying to hide her face, but it was obviously as red as a boiled lobster.

To Gertie's surprise, Courtney and Miles then simultaneously turned to look at one another, snickered, and finally, when they were unable to hold it in any longer, the couple cracked wide white grins and started laughing loudly together.

As Courtney laughed louder than anyone else did at the table, she was slapping Miles' shoulder while he was guffawing almost as loudly and then when the two of them settled, Courtney got up, presumably to go get something more to eat or drink and Miles followed.

While watching the two speak, Gertie shook her head and whispered to Kyo, "Courtney's got a filthy mind too?"

Kyo shook his head. "You did hear her this morning, didn’t you?" He nodded upwards, “She’s got you beat.”

"Oh!" Phoebe exhaled loudly in frustration at everyone in attendance as the laughter got much louder at her response, she then pointed her finger at the occupants of the entire table, and shook it, "That's not what I meant at all, and you know it!"

As the table laughed louder, the tiny irate woman's facial expression softened, "When in Rome." In addition, she too began to laugh.

Gerald, looking to spare his wife, changed the subject and asked, "So, who's ready to play some football?"

As Jamie-O's boys rose to find their worn football, John and Timberly finished their good byes to JJ. Afterwards, the little boy ran towards his cousins and uncle to practice throwing the ball back and forth before the game. Soon the couple made their way towards Gerald and Phoebe. "What can we do to help clear up?" John asked.

Gerald gave Timberly, then John a cautious glance, "You're not leaving already are you?" Then with concern, "Are you sick, 'Tim?"

Timberly shook her head, "No, I'm fine, just a little tired." John smiled at his wife and rubbed his comforting hand across her shoulders gently.

Phoebe placed her hand around Gerald's waist and informed, "Almost all the food is put up, and the plates and cups can be thrown away, so everything's taken care of." Phoebe cut her slanted eyes at her husband, "The only thing left to clean is Lulu.” Suggestively, she ended, “Gerald likes to do that by himself."

Missing the dirty look Gerald shot Phoebe, John nodded, "She is a right pretty grill, Gerald." The man added with more than a lilt of envy, "I hope to have a beautiful set up like that someday."

Phoebe rolled her eyes at Timberly as she said with a giggle, "Thanks for looking after JJ, I told him to be on his best behavior. If you need us to come get him, we'll be right over, okay?"

Gerald shook his head, "JJ is always a good boy when he visits. Phoebes and I love having him here!" Gerald held out his arms for Timberly and gathered her into them. “Love you, ‘Tim.”

Timberly hugged back and shared, "I love you too, 'Ger."

Gerald held out his hand for John to shake when he heard Kyo yell out while Timberly and John left, "Dad, we need a referee!"

"I guess I better go before an argument takes place, you guys take care driving home, okay?" Then Gerald and Phoebe walked over to the group of kids as Gertie passed him the ball.

Phoebe took JJ's hand and led him to the picnic table, "I don't want you playing and getting hurt, come to the table and I'll get you a slice of pie, how does that sound? We'll watch for a little while, then we'll get you a nice warm bath and into your jammies."

JJ was disappointed, but the lure of sweets offset it. "Okay, Aunt Phoebe."

Then caring woman eyed Gertie in the distance, and walked over to the group.

Gerald asked Gertie, "Are you sure you can play with that hand the way it is?"

The kind man looked at the girl with concern as she raised it, "If it bothers me too much, I know when to quit."

Gerald nodded but said with caution, "Okay, but I don't like the looks of that, Shortman."

Courtney who was examining the backyard from all angles asked, "Where the end zones, and what are the rules concerning play?"

Gerald focused on Peyton, Johnson, and Orrell when he said it, more than anyone else. "No tackling, if you're touched and you're holding the ball, the other team gets it, no arguments, the fences on either end of the yard are the end zones, everything else in between is free and clear for running." Gerald glanced at everyone, "Got it?" Everyone agreed. Gerald clapped his hands together, "Alright, lets pick your teams."

Gerald plucked a quarter out of his pocket as Jamie-O patted his nephew on the shoulder, "You pick."

Kyo called, "Heads." and Gerald flipped the coin to the ground.

Winning the coin toss, Kyo first called out, "I want Gertie."

Kyo cut Peyton a nasty look when his cousin muttered, "In more ways that one." Moreover, his naughty siblings began to snicker. Unknown to the boy, Phoebe heard what he said, and she smacked his arm, with the other boys quieting before they received like punishment.

Kyo laughed at his mother's chiding of his cousins, but his face fell as his mother took Gertie's undamaged hand and addressed the group. "I'm sorry, but Gertie is not going to play this evening." Gertie opened her mouth, but Phoebe put her foot down. "Gertrude Shortman, just look at your hand!" The girl did, and it looked like an oversized cartoon character's gloved hand instead of belonging to a human being. "No arguments!" Phoebe stood firmly in front of Gertie daring her to contradict when she firmly added, "Doctor's orders."

To be honest, Gertie really didn't feel like football because her hand really did hurt and it so swollen she couldn’t bend her fingers, much less catch a football anyway, so she didn’t make too much fuss.

Gerald who had wanted an excuse to play instead of referee all evening stepped up, "I'll play in 'Gert's place, and she can referee for us if you'll have me, Kyo."

The boy shrugged and said with a smile, "I pick dad."

Jamie-O pointed and said, "Peyton."

Kyo said, "Miles." Miles walked over and slapped his friend's hand as he joined his friend on his left hand side.

Jamie-O picked, "Orrell."

Kyo selected with style, "Miss Gammelthorpe, come on down!" With a wicked grin and an arm movement.

Looking at the girl, Jamie-O was somewhat surprised at his nephew's choice. He figured surely that Kyo would have chosen Johnson for his team. In fact, Jamie-O hadn't picked his son so that his nephew would select him, and his team might have a little advantage.

Johnson was a football star at his high school, and had gotten a scholarship to play football at Winston-Salem State University in North Carolina. He was an NFL draft pick, but to honor his father and mother's wishes, the boy wisely chose to pursue an education first.

As Jamie-O watched the girl stretch, and strangely enough look all around her, he thought Courtney was a nice girl, and he liked her, but he had no idea how in the world a girl that slender and small could play a rough sport like this, even if it were touch.

He knew that she was a runner, but Peyton and Orrell were quick too, and there was no way the girl would ever be able to get past them and in all likelihood would be a handicap to Kyo's team.  
Feeling sorry for Kyo who had already lost the game, Jamie-O motioned to Johnson with his head, and he walked over to join his father and brother.

However, as they met in the middle of the yard, Jamie-O couldn't help but wonder why Kyo was grinning as if he knew something that he didn't.

Gertie held up the football and called out to Jamie-O, "Spaces or laces?"

Jamie-O called out "Spaces."

Gertie stood the football up on one of its ends, and spun it deftly with her fingers on the short cut grass then let go. The ball twirled for a second, but the friction of the grass ceased the centrifugal movement, it lost momentum, and then fell. Kyo groaned when his uncle triumphantly yelled, "Our ball!"

The two teams retreated to opposite ends of the yard to prepare and strategize.

While they planned, Miles heard only half of what Gerald was saying to him as his godfather talked about some kind of crazy play called razzle dazzle fumblerooski something or another that he and his father had created when they were kids. Instead, the love struck boy intently studied Courtney as she talked to Gertie, in turn, both girls were giggling and stealing glances at him and Kyo, trying desperately to not look as they were. Miles knew exactly why Gertie was acting the way she was, but before the tantalizing theories of why Courtney was acting like his smitten sister too could form in his mind, he was interrupted.

Kyo snapped his fingers, "Earth to Miles." Kyo looked in the direction of the two girls, focusing more on Gertie. "I think you've got some drool going there, Buddy." Then his lips twisted into a grin as Miles focused on him. "So you and Courtney seemed to hit it off pretty good in the kitchen, huh?" Miles sighed forcefully when Kyo snickered. "I thought you were going to pass out when she hugged you, man!" Miles gave Kyo a look as his friend continued in a cajoling tone, "Aren't you glad you stayed? Hmmmmm?"

Not being able to refute his friend's claim, Miles looked upwards, "Okay, I'll give you that." When Miles looked back, he noticed Kyo adoring Gertie from afar, he would have given his best friend grief over his obvious crush on his sister, but Gerald beat him to it.

"Could you two be any more obvious?" Gerald asked as Miles and Kyo blushed, then the mischievous man burst out laughing as he patted their shoulders with the flats of his palms. "You boys go on ahead, I gotta' talk to my brother," Kyo and Miles shared a knowing glance when Gerald ended, "I'm feelin' lucky tonight."

Gertie held up her good hand yelling, "Let's do this thing!" Then blew a whistle.

A little wiser than Jamie-O this evening, Gerald walked over to his brother and made an interesting overture. "Let's make this game a little more interesting, Pop Daddy."

"Interesting how, Little Brother?" Phoebe, who was eavesdropping, put her hand in her face as Jamie-O agreed to the terms of the wager, then cut her eyes towards her husband, and she became even more irritated when Gerald winked at her.

* * *

Helga gave her work one last look, and then a test to see how her patient's skin behaved in conjunction with her sutures when flexed. "Please stand up for me, and I'll see if the stitches move, or need to be re-done."

Monkeyman stood and looked down at the neat laces in his skin, "It looks good, I can't feel any pain, and I don't feel any undue pressure when I stand like the stitches are pulling or anything like that either."

"Good." Helga said in relief as she removed her bloody gloves and discarded them along with red tinged gauze, the wrapped and taped needle she used to sew the man up with, and the clear empty bottle of saline solution into a plastic bag. "It looks like I have you sealed up pretty good."

Helga said with relief as she took a final look, and smeared some antibiotic ointment around the raised flesh with a cotton swab. "Now the next few days with this injury are critical, Buddy," Helga cautioned, "If it feels hot, you have any red streaks radiating from the wound, severe itching, redness, swelling, notice a bad smell, or a discharge that is not clear from it, you need to come here and let me treat you, or you can go to Doctor Johannsen." The woman reasoned, "Actually that would probably be best if there are complications as you've gotten the best of my medical knowledge this evening. I'll tell her you were in tonight."

Buddy said, "But she's a gynecologist."

One was certainly on her mind, but instead of making a filthy joke that would insult his bravery, Helga settled for, "Who in the world do you think taught me how to place sutures and treat minor wounds in the first place?"

Buddy watched Helga take the top off another syringe and push it into a different type of bottle. He didn't want this, but knowing what it was, he figured that he might as well suck it up, and accept one last poke. Sensing Buddy's discomfort, Helga sympathetically said, "I know this is the last thing you want, but I swear this is the last needle I'll have around you tonight, and you really do need a tetanus booster after all this."

Buddy sighed in reluctant acceptance, "I know."

As Helga tore open a prepared wipe saturated with isopropyl alcohol, and he rolled up the right sleeve of his mesh top to allow her to cleanse the injection site, he felt the coolness of the solvent as it evaporated off his skin. Helga warned, "Just a pinch."

Monkeyman looked around at the decorations in the Shortman boy's room thinking they had too much in common, as he felt the needle break his skin, and was grateful for the distraction as he felt a vibration on his shoulder harness. After digging in a pouch for it, he picked up an electronic device, turned it on, and read a message. "Trouble?" Helga asked with concern.

Monkeyman shook his head negatively as he rolled his sleeve back down. "Nah, just a message from my support team, I sent them a text letting them know what happened, where I was going, and they had to adjust the tracking signal to pick me up for this side of town this time of night." The man patted a raised bump on the right side of his shoulder. "They have sensors that do it automatically when I'm on schedule, but the trip to your house tonight was unplanned. They also needed to keep me informed of the police activity in the area so I could assist if needed, or escape." Then the man pressed a button on another device he had picked up, and read another message.

It was rather interesting, and certainly bore some looking into.

To break the uncomfortable silence, Helga said with her back turned as Monkeyman got up, and bent down to pull his pants up. "I've said it before, but all the little doo dads you have to work with are just fascinating."

As he adjusted the fabric so it would be straight, Monkeyman sort of smiled, "You've always had a crush on my gadgets, Mrs. Shortman, and I've kept offering for years to have you go on a patrol with me," The man offered, "Why don't you get it out of your system and go with me?" He cajoled, "Just once?" Monkeyman dangled his grappling hook launcher in front of her face and said in a singsong way, "I'll even let you use this."

Helga rolled her eyes, and said, "My knees are crap now, and I think I'm a bit too old to go gallivanting around the rooftops of town wearing spandex and a mask."

Monkeyman pulled the cowl tucked into his belt down onto his forehead and spoke more seriously, "Before I go, would you like for me to go talk to Mr. Shortman, and explain things?"

Helga shook her head, "Good grief no! It's not like we're having an affair!" Monkeyman laughed as the chortling woman continued, "Granted I have a lot of explaining to do, but everything he saw a little while ago is fairly self-explanatory."

Monkeyman shrugged, "Good point." Then he made his way to the bed. "I hate walking on your son's bed like this, Helga."

Helga reasoned, "Dirtier things have,"

Monkeyman held up his hand, "Too much information, Dr. Shortman."

"Fair enough." The blonde grinned as she stepped up onto the bed herself. "Can you make it?"

The man nodded, "Yeah, I'm fine," As he pulled the mask completely down on his face.

As Helga stepped out onto the roof, she cautioned, "You be careful and get back to headquarters as soon as you can, okay?"

Not wanting to make a promise he might not keep, Monkeyman paused and then strangely enough turned, walked over to his benefactor, lifting his mask so that his lips were exposed, and kissed her cheek. "I love you, Helga. Thank you for everything you do for me."

Helga hugged the tall man in return, kissed him back and admitted wholeheartedly, "I love you too, you crazy thing."

With a running leap off the roof, Monkeyman disappeared into the night, but in the distance, Helga heard him yell, "Thanks for the cake and coffee too!"

The woman chuckled to herself, and as she climbed back down onto the steps in Miles' room, Arnold was already there gathering up the bloody bed sheets and a bag of trash to be thrown away. Helga looked up and said, "I'll get that."

Arnold smiled, "No I'll take care of it," He said warily, "You've uh, had a pretty busy night tonight."

Helga's face turned red. "Yeah, um, about that, Arnold, look, I know that this is a shock, and it’s hard telling what you're thinking, but please give me a chance to explain."

The kind man shook his head, "No explanation needed, it’s okay. How long have you two had this little arrangement going?"

"College." Helga answered to his surprise.

In shock, Arnold questioned, "Well, where did you learn how to treat wounds like that?"

The woman smiled, "Phoebes."

He knew he shouldn't, but asked anyway, "Who else knows about Monkeyman's secret identity?"

Helga shook her head. "At this point in his career, it would be much easier to list the people who don't know his dark secret." Counting with her fingers, Helga’s eyes turned upwards trying to remember everyone in on the secret. "Rhonda knew, and helped him as much as she could monetarily; he’s the one who," Not wanting to re-hash the details of the disturbing event, Helga briefly expounded, "Helped her that night."

When it all dawned on Arnold, he wondered how he could be so clueless as his wife continued the list of who was in on the loop. "Fuzzy Slippers, Zamboni Jones, that homeless guy with the grocery cart full of cans, Gerald and Phoebe obviously, retired police chief Franklin Viars." Helga looked upwards, "Patty Burman."

Arnold had an incredulous look on his face. "Patty?"

Helga nodded, and then looked upwards thinking of other people, "Bridget of course, she’s the one who trained him in the first place after Andy quit."

Arnold nodded, "Now that makes sense, I guess that's where he gets his gadgets. Bridget gave me and Gerald the equipment we used to help save the neighborhood a little while back."

Helga laughed at the incorrect time reference. "She's who I got the voice changer from so I could be Deep Voice." The woman finished, "Other than you, and a couple of other benefactors that wish to remain anonymous, I think that's about it."

Arnold shook his head, "I promise to never ever tell." Then he shrugged, "I just can't believe he's Monkeyman."

"Arnold, who else is crazy enough to scramble across the rooftops of Hillwood City screaming Monkeyman in that creepy way he does?" Helga asked incredulously.

Arnold asked devilishly, "I wonder if he'd let me borrow one of his outfits?" Then he wiggled his eyebrows slyly. "Maybe you'd tell me you love me and let me kiss you too."

Not believing he saw and heard that, the woman ordered, "Go write, Football Head." As she gently pushed him down the steps towards his study with a deep red blush on her face.

* * *

Jamie-O, Peyton, Orrell, and Johnson were sitting at the table staring at Gerald, Kyo, Miles, and Courtney.

For the life of them, they had no idea how in the world that they had been beaten.

Jamie-O had a good idea how they were beaten however, and had an incredulous look on his face. "We want a do over, Gerald!" Jamie-O had an ugly look on his face, "You tricked us!"

Gerald crossed his arms, "Tricked 'us' how?"

Jamie-O, pointed at the table they were all sitting at, and landmarks in the yard. "Whenever you said that the whole yard was free and clear for the field of play, we didn't know that you meant that Courtney could flip off the picnic table like Monkeyman!"

Courtney, who was drinking a bluish sports beverage gulped hard and looked upwards as the slightly irritated man continued, "We also didn't know that you meant that Miles could use the trees as escape routes, and high throwing positions either." Gertie slapped Courtney's hand, and Kyo gave Miles a thumb up.

Gerald guffawed, "You're just a sore loser, Jamie-O." Then crossed his arms eyeing his brother. "You knew well enough that my football team was going to lose last night, and you baited me into making that bet with you, fess up!"

"Alright, alright, you win, the next barbecue is at my house," Jamie-O agreed with a smile, then checked his watch, "It looks like it's time for us to go, Boys, we've got to stop at the store to buy some milk and bread, or else your mom is going to be a very unhappy lady when we get home."

Jamie-O's sons got up from the table, shook hands with Courtney, bear hugged Gertie and Miles, then grabbed Kyo by the neck, and rubbed the top of his head until he could no longer struggle.  
Soon Gerald was walking out with the four gigantic men past the fence gate, leaving Gertie, Kyo, Miles and Courtney sitting together talking as JJ and Phoebe emerged from the kitchen door. The bottom of Phoebe's shirt and top of her jeans were soaking wet, and JJ was changed into sock monkey print pajamas. With a big smile, JJ asked, "Can we play hide and seek now?"

Phoebe wrung out her shirt the best she could and requested, "Kyo, would you please look after JJ while I change and mop the bathroom floor? I'll come down and gather up all the dirty plates as soon as I get some dry clothes on."

Kyo looked at the picnic table and surrounding area, "That's okay, Mom, there's not much mess, I'll pick up." The considerate boy acknowledged, "We can look after JJ, why don't you go rest for a little while? You've been working all day."

Phoebe, truly appreciative, added, "If I fall asleep or something, I'd like JJ in bed by eleven, okay?" Phoebe looked at JJ more than she did his caretakers.

Nevertheless, Kyo nodded in agreement. "Don't worry, Mom, we'll take care of him."

When Phoebe went inside, her son began gathering dirty paper plates and cups to throw into the garbage can, and everyone else joined in to help. Kyo offered, "Gert and I will get the picnic table area," Kyo looked at Courtney and Miles, along with JJ as he pointed at the fence, "If you want to, you guys take care of the cup collection the three stooges and their keeper put up there, and that way we'll get done twice as fast."

While Miles, Courtney and JJ cleaned their area, the Shortman girl watched in curiosity as her clever friend piled all of the dirty paper plates into the middle of the picnic table. When Kyo was finished doing that, he lifted all the edges of the paper table covering and declared, "Watch a pro."

With a cocked eyebrow, the girl watched the pro begin well enough while he balled the flimsy thin paper table covering in increments towards the middle. However, as the concentration of plates and the liquid Kyo hadn't thought about still in the cups spilled and then began to saturate the paper table covering, it tore, making the leftover contents of the plates fall upon the table, making a sticky mess that wasn't there before.

Kyo blushed because his plan didn't work in front of Gertie, but he growled when he heard Miles yell across the yard, "Hey, Pro, take a bite!"

As JJ laughed from across the yard, Gertie put her fingers on her mouth and snickered when Kyo mumbled under his breath lowly, "Bite me."

After some raking into trash bags, and rinsing off the sticky picnic table with a hose, the kids finished cleaning up, and they were talking. Kyo turned his attention to Courtney, "What are you going to do about your car, Courtney?"

JJ ran up and asked, "Can we play hide and seek now?"

Kyo looked down at the boy, "We will in a minute, be patient, okay, Buddy?" Then focused his attention back on his friends.

Miles asked, "What happened to your car?"

Disgusted with the car, she said, “Oh, I doubt that there’s anything really wrong with the car, I think I just flooded the blooming thing.” Courtney said with confidence, "I'm pretty sure that it'll start seeing as it’s been sitting there for a couple of hours.” Courtney checked her watch, "I do have to get going, though, because its ten thirty, and I have to be home by midnight unless I call home. The car really isn't that far away, but I'm going to leave now so I'll have plenty of time to get home, since I'm walking to it."

JJ looking up at everyone said, "I'm going to go hide now."

Kyo offered Courtney, not even hearing the little boy‘s plans, "I'll drive you."

"Miles can walk with me." Courtney begged Kyo with her eyes not to mention giving her a ride again grateful, he got the hint. There were things that she wanted to talk about with Miles. True, she had forgiven him, but she intended to settle all her business with him that night.

Gertie in the meantime could not help but smile at the expression on her brother's face.

As his mind turned, brimming with ideas to his benefit, Miles said with a slight smile, and looked at the girl from his side while winking at Kyo and his sister. "I'll leave the car here for you, Gertie, because you'll need it to get home." The young man selflessly added, "Besides, 'K, your mom specifically asked you to look after JJ, and get him in bed by eleven, and it might take longer than you think for us to get Courtney's car started." Miles added with a lilt, "Besides, you don't really want to have to pack up Courtney, Gertie, a little kid, and I in your mom and dad's brand new car do you?" Miles grinned, "It's a high risk maneuver and hard telling what I'd do to it alone."

Courtney began to laugh as he ran through an insane laundry list of annoying things, most of which he had better manners than actually do, to convince Kyo to go along with the plan. "Like runnin' my grubby fingers all over the nice clean windows, sticking my head out the window barking like a cat in traffic," Kyo rolled his eyes and put his hand on his aching head as Miles hammed it up and the two girls laughed even more. "Smoking foot long cigars like a gangsta‘ and putting the ashes in the unused tray; messin' with the radio..." Miles' voice trailed off as Courtney and Gertie leaned on each other laughing loudly at Miles' silly act and Kyo's frustrated expressions.

In turn, Kyo really wished that his best friend would shut up, because if he wanted to be alone with Courtney all Miles would have to have said was, 'Hey, I wanna' walk with Courtney' but that would have been much too easy. "Okay," Kyo said conceding defeat holding up his hands, 'We'll stay here."

Gertie added with a protective air, "I still want one of you to call my phone and let us know that you got the car started safely, so if it doesn't we can pick you up."

Miles said, "Sure thing, Mom."

Gertie cut her brother a dirty look as Courtney laughed and waved her hand, "We'll call, but if the car won't start, I'll call the car service to bring a roll back to take the car to my house, and we'll ride with the driver in the cab.

"A rollback?" Miles asked clueless.

The brunette girl held out the flat of her hand as they walked away, "Yeah, Tracks is set too low, and the back would drag if it were towed with a conventional tow truck. A rollback is better, you can tow a car in neutral, but it's bad for the transmission and differential."

As Courtney headed for the fence door, Miles asked in a dumfounded manner, "Did you just call your car Tracks?"

As the two disappeared behind the fence, and their voices began to fade further away, Gertie and Kyo looked at each other as Courtney said, "Yeah, I'm making my Corvette into the generation one character." The girl ended with a perky tone, "I'm a huge Transformers fan."

Gertie shook her head and looked at Kyo, "Wait for it."

Kyo asked, "Wait for what?"

In the distance, the couple heard Miles yell at the top of his voice, "I love Transformers too!"

Kyo shook his head, "Oh, yeah, I forgot Optimus has a collection of them too."

Gertie and Kyo listened as Miles and Courtney parried back and forth talking about preferences and favorite characters in the distance. Kyo turned to the girl beside him and declared, "You know you're going to be forced into wearing a dress, because you're going to be the maid of honor."

Gertie looked at Kyo, "You know you're going to have to wear a tuxedo too, because you're going to be the best man." The girl added with a hint of jealousy, "At least you'll be able to wear sneakers and still be fashionable, I’ll be stuck in uncomfortable ass heels."

The two sat down on the picnic table, placing their feet on the bench below, then gazed at the stars in comfortable silence for a few moments, finding ways to surreptitiously study one another as well as they could in the cool dampness of the evening hoping the other didn't notice.

Then Gertie broke the silence, with of all things, an apology, "I'm sorry I didn't get to play football with you tonight." She sighed with a wry smile. "I know you were depending on me to be offensive."

The two laughed at the double meaning and then Kyo shook his head, "Yeah, you really needed to play football with that hand looking the way it does, 'Gert."

Kyo looked around, picked up a clean paper napkin from behind him, and folded it as Gertie asked with curiosity, "What are you doing? Origami?"

"No," Kyo shook his head, "I'm going to put something on that hand, its swelled back up worse than it was after you smacked your hand down on the table earlier." He gently took the injured hand in his and examined it.

There wasn't anything the action could do, except get Gertie's hand in his.

Gertie blushed looking upwards. "I'll put something on it later."

Knowing better, Kyo said, "No, you won't." Then the concerned boy observed, "You worry about everyone else's welfare but your own, so why don't you let someone take care of you for a change?"

Flattered by the attention, and the lure of his touch, Gertie held out her hand and allowed the boy to have his way with her. "You sound like my mom."

Surprised that Gertie was letting him treat her with minimal fuss, Kyo wrapped the napkin around Gertie's hand, and then scooped a few thin pieces of ice out of a cooler to the side of the table.

Despite the fact that the cold ice made his fingers feel as if something were stinging them painfully, he held the swollen appendage in the palm of his right hand, allowing the warmth from his hand melt the ice from his left, so that the freezing cold of the ice would not hurt her already smarting flesh. Joking, Kyo stated with his hands held up, "Now, I know it's not toilet paper, but," Gertie cut the boy a look, "How's that feel?" The concerned boy finished.

Gertie admitted, "That does feel better, thank you."

As Kyo melted another few pieces of ice in his hand, the cold fluid that dripped out of the makeshift bandage on his friend's hand bled into his jeans. It was uncomfortably cold, but the iceberg that split the skin of The Titanic could have been melting in his front pocket and Kyo wouldn't have cared, engrossed by the company he kept. "I'm glad that you were able to come tonight after everything that's happened today." He blushed, and said the truth from his heart. "I wouldn't have enjoyed the barbecue at all if you weren't here."

The girl smiled, "You are so full of it, 'K." Then admitted shyly, looking intermittently at the ground and the boy, "But I'm really glad that I got to come too."

Still nursing her hand, Kyo gazed deeply into his best friend's lovely green eyes, the two beautiful pools that were the delight of his fantasies. He smiled at her, and she returned as he smoothly scooted a little closer to the beautiful girl of his dreams all the while his heart was pounding as fight or flight raced through his mind. Breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between the two of them, his starlit angel Gertrude asked, "Kyo?"

The lovesick boy smiled to one side and got even closer to his girl, wanting to kiss her so badly he could taste it, answering the question of his name dreamily, "Yeah?"

"What did you write in that book you gave me?" The clever girl asked.

"Where's JJ?" Kyo asked as his head and eyes darted around searching for the little boy that he suddenly remembered that they were supposed to be looking after.

Patience never being one of her stronger suits and thinking perhaps he was stalling, Gertie cut right through the bullshit and said with humor, "That's a funny thing to write to someone you love in a book, who loves you right back, 'K."

"I'm serious, Gertie, JJ is gone!" The boy said in a panic as he jumped down from the bench, and began scouring all the places in the yard capable of hiding a five year old. Surprised that Kyo missed that, she began helping him look for the boy who absconded too.

After a good search of the yard, soon enough Gertie was worried too, and the two called out the little boy's name several times, but received no answer. "Well this is just freakin’ great!" Kyo exclaimed to Gertie’s shock as he looked down the steps that led to the outside basement door. With horror Kyo struck upon an idea, and ran to the fence gate to find that it was still closed, but he still gripped the top of his head and thought with doom, "He could be on the road run over dead or something!"

Gertie reasoned, "Oh, 'K, calm down! We know JJ's not outside the fenced area because we've been right here and would have seen him open the gate and leave." She sighed, "We'll find him," Gertie studied the wild eyed boy carefully, "I bet that when you told him to wait a minute before we played hide and seek, he may have held you to it."

Kyo rolled his eyes groaning, and then shouted, "JJ!"

Gertie rummaged through the bushes in front of the living room window and called out, "JJ, we're not playing with you now, we need you to come out of hiding, okay?" Flashing light grabbed Gertie's attention, and she got up and looked inside the living room window. Even though the room wasn't lit, the glow of a television set with its bright contrast of movement reflected off the skin of a wide-eyed little boy sitting in the middle of a couch.

As Kyo was reaching a color coded state of heightened panic homeland security hadn't created yet as he searched under lawn furniture on his hands and knees, Gertie said with a sigh of relief; and a point through the window, "You can quit wigging out now, he's in the living room."

* * *

When Kyo and Gertie went inside, the sounds of laser blasts and an Imperial droid blown to bits to Chewbacca's bellowing approval was heard. When the teens poked their heads into the room, JJ was just finishing another large slice of pie, but had neglected to use a plate or fork, opting to eat it straight off of the palm of his hand.

"Where have you been?" Kyo asked with irritation even though it was obvious. "Why did you sneak away like that?"

The boy turned with wide eyes as the top light was turned on, both kids could see slimy cherry filling all over JJ's face, both his hands, and a small section of sticky red crust that was stuck to the top of the little boy's pajama set, sticky side down. When the boy shifted, it fell from JJ's shirt towards the floor. Kyo ran in seeming slow motion as the goo-drenched crust fell towards his mother's immaculate white carpet. Kyo wasn't able to catch it, but fortune favored him, and the stain-ridden pie landed red side up, but before Kyo could stop him, JJ reached down, plucked the crust off the floor, and ate it, lint and all.

Then Kyo groaned, "That's nasty!" Then with down-turned eyebrows, Kyo asked, "Why did you leave the yard like that? We've both been looking around for you worried sick!"

JJ shrugged and said, "I told you I was ready to play hide and seek, and you said wait a minute, and I did, then nobody came to look for me; so I came in here to watch Star Wars. Did you know Darth Vader is Luke‘s father."

Gertie feigned surprise, “No, that’s not true, that’s impossible!”

Kyo rolled his eyes, took JJ's filthiest hand in his while looking at him like an unexploded landmine with a hair trigger, and then exclaimed, "Look at the mess you're in!" Then added in frustration, "You just had a bath!" JJ's bottom lip turned down and began to quiver with his favorite cousin's angry voice directed at him.

"'K." Gertie said while looking at JJ, then gave Kyo the 'give him a break' look.

When Kyo looked at the little boy again, JJ was on the verge of tears, and Kyo, realizing he was being too hard on the kid, said with a gentle voice and a gentle touch on his shoulder, "I'm sorry I raised my voice at you, okay? It's just that when we couldn't find you, I was worried you were hurt, and when I saw you," The boy paused, "Like this," Kyo moved his hand down the boy's shirt accentuating the crumbs and slimy filling that was all over his clothing, face and hands. "Well, you know how your auntie Phoebe is about the carpet in here, doo doo rolls downhill, and it would have been my fault anyway."

"It's okay, Kyo, I am a mess." The cute boy truthfully admitted as Gertie smiled.

Kyo took JJ's cleaner hand, and led him out of the living room before he could touch anything. "Let's get you cleaned up, Buddy." JJ nodded at Kyo as he smirked at Gertie, "We'll use the hall bathroom, there's still plenty of toilet paper for you use, Doctor." The blonde girl shot Kyo a dirty look as JJ giggled, and he answered, "Oh, now come on, Gertie, even you have to admit that toilet paper to you is like duct tape to a guy."

The girl looked to the side, "Okay, I'll let you have that one."

Kyo answered, "Another Gertrude Shortman miracle."

Gertie ground her teeth together while JJ cheerfully informed, “I‘m a witness!”

Once inside the bathroom, Gertie pulled out a couple of yards of toilet paper to start with, wet it with warm water, and started scrubbing JJ's everything.

Kyo shook his head and pointed towards three small white neatly folded towels on a rack to the side of the sink, "'Gert, there's towels right here, why don't we just use those?"

With instinct that was female genetic heritage, Gertie rolled her eyes, and remarked obviously, "I swear, 'K, everyone knows that you don't ever use those towels, they're for decoration only!" The girl said warily, "If we got cherry pie stains on those, your mother would start speaking Japanese real fast, and we all know Mrs. Johannsen is not a happy lady when she starts speaking straight Japanese."

Kyo shrugged, and had to agree. When the end of the world finally came it would not be the mournful cry of Gabriel's horn sounding across the broken world, or the sounds of a thunderous battle heralding the deaths of the Norse gods during Ragnarok, but instead his mother's angry voice using mild profanity in her ancestor's tongue that would pronounce the end of all time.

Soon enough, the combined efforts of Kyo and Gertie had JJ clean. To the girl's dismay however, toilet paper did not have the ability to remove the red stain on JJ's pajama top, added to that handicap, there was also a whitish streak of lint on the boy's shirt as well. Gertie pointed out the area of interest and demonstrated seriously, "You see, boys, this is why I don't like that soft, two ply soft stuff, nice on the butt, but it just doesn't hold up well."

Kyo and JJ both gave each other sideways glances, both wisely saying nothing, but then the little boy yawned and asked, "Can we play hide and seek now?"

Kyo forcefully shook his head, "No way, Buddy, we are done with hide and seek tonight, I can tell you that right now!" Kyo gave the boy a look as he checked his watch. "It's almost eleven o'clock, and I promised mom I'd have you in bed by then."

Seeing he was already formulating a well-founded argument against such, Gertie knelt down to eye level with the boy and struck upon a compromise. "I tell you what, JJ, we'll take you upstairs for bed, but before we tuck you in, you can pick out any bedtime story you want to hear and 'K and I will read it to you."

"Any book?" JJ asked.

"Any book." Gertie promised with an upbeat tone.

JJ stood up on the toilet seat, and held out his arms towards Kyo, and he stepped forward with his arms open. "C'mon, Monkeyman, I know your secret identity." Gertie smiled when Kyo picked JJ up, and actually kissed his cheek. In return, JJ wrapped his legs around Kyo's waist, and held onto his neck as he carried him up the steps. As Kyo walked upwards, Gertie reached out and held JJ's outstretched hand. Kyo patted the boy's back with his free hand. "I'll be rockin' the couch tonight while you get to sleep in my room, Buddy Boy."

JJ was ecstatic, "Can I play with Steve?"

Kyo glanced at the girl he intended to kiss later, and he knew that if the snake came out, Gertie was going home, and there was no way in hell that was happening.

Kyo reasoned nicely, "Steve's a sleepy boy too, just like you. If you let him sleep now, I promise we'll play with him tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay." JJ said with cheer.

Kyo stepped into his room and put the boy down to choose his book to read from his shelves as Gertie lifted the corner of his bed and fluffed the pillow. As JJ walked towards him with it in his hands, Kyo prayed that it wasn't one about snakes, or any other sort of reptile. "I wanna' hear this one, please." He asked politely, as Gertie took the book from him and read the title.

The book brought an instant smile to her face, she had had one just like it on her bookshelf, and it was her favorite book when she was JJ's age.

The cover of the book had the illustration of a little longhaired brunette girl wearing a diamond-encrusted tiara, purple halter top, blue leotards, and a skirt made of bananas, with pink ballet slippers. Accompanying the girl was a half cat, half monkey in a white leisure suit and a black shirt. The book was written by an author named Trace Nelson and illustrated by Courtney's mother, Rhonda Gammelthorpe. A large gold foil seal glued to the well-worn dust jacket denoted the art award the children’s book won years before.

With a British accent, Kyo asked, "Can little boys fly?" Kyo picked JJ up, held him up in his arms while moving in a circle, and then playfully tossed him gently upon his bed. When JJ landed with a laugh, Kyo added properly with a light tickle, "No, I suppose not." Serving to make JJ giggle even more.

When as settled as he was going to get, Gertie pulled the sheets up onto the boy's tiny body and tucked them under the mattress as Kyo asked JJ, "You know Courtney, the girl who was here tonight and gave you a dollar?" The little boy nodded as Kyo pointed to the book he was holding in his hand, "Her mommy drew and painted the pictures in this book. When I was your age and started kindergarten, she gave me this copy and signed it to me." He motioned to the lovely girl beside him. "Gertie and Miles have a copy apiece too."

Kyo opened the book to its title page and pointed with his finger as Gertie read the inscription to JJ aloud.

" _To Kyo- May you boogie through life with the greatest of ease. With much love, Your Auntie Rhonda_ "

JJ asked as he pulled on Kyo's arm enthusiastically, "Do you think she'd write in a book to me too, 'K?"

Kyo looked down, and then explained, "She was an extremely kind woman, I’m sure she would have, but Courtney's mother, passed away this year, JJ."

With an innocent sadness that nearly brought a tear to Gertie's eye, JJ asked, "Courtney's mommy died?" Gertie and Kyo both nodded solemnly as JJ related Courtney's loss to his own, "Like Neptune did?"

As Kyo thoughtfully explained, Gertie thought.

She could not imagine what Courtney had been through and how she had felt in the past year.

Her mother's death was bad enough, but it must have been a slow torture to watch her degrade over a long space of time, added to the extraneous events in her life. Gertie had no idea how Courtney had the strength to accomplish everything she did the previous year while grappling with the knowledge of her mother's impending death.

If anything like that happened to her mother or father, Gertie knew she would fall apart, but Courtney was so strong, stronger than she in many ways, and in that moment, Gertie felt a great swell of empathy, fondness, and even more respect for the girl she really met for the first time that evening.

JJ said quietly as he stroked Willie on the head, "That's sad; I bet she misses her mommy a whole lot, because I miss Neptune a whole lot."

Kyo rubbed JJ's shoulder and said respectfully, "Yes, she does, but as long as you remember people, pets, and the happy times you shared together, they never really go away because they will always live on in your heart."

Gertie smiled in admiration of the boy beside her, only Kyo could explain grief to a child and make something good come out of it, and she quickly raised a finger to brush under her eye, both for her new friend, and the sweet wisdom of the wonderful boy beside her.

With a sniff, the tenderhearted girl cleared her throat, then showed JJ the cover of the book, and read the title. "This story is called, 'Hannah Banana and the Funky Meow Monkey'."

Kyo sat down beside Gertie, then held half of the book in his hand; as she held the other half, and they began to read,

"Hannah Banana and Meow Monkey went to a funky disco dance. They wiggled their toes, tapped their feet, and learned the alphabet to a way out beat. They jumped over the velvet rope, and crashed clean through the door; because they were on the A list of Studio Fifty Four. B is for bouncers, who have plenty of C for clout, and D is for Diana Dog and the disco song, I'm Barking Out. E is for an elegant elephant doing the electric slide, and F is for fancy fiery foxes having a far out time! G is for giraffes who know how to get down and groove in a line!”

As the two teens took turns reading, Kyo took a chance and wound his arm around Gertie's waist. To the lovesick boy's pleasant surprise, Gertie rested her head on his shoulder as she moved her arm over his warm embrace, and placed her hand on his back with her fingers touching the base of his neck. Neither of the kids looked at each other during their private discourse, but both were smiling.

Neither Kyo nor Gertie knew it, but Gerald and Phoebe stood outside their son's bedroom door just out of sight, both listening in and watching the entire time, sneaking peeks inside at their son and goddaughter when they felt it was safe.

Unable to help themselves because it was so sweet and romantic, unknown to the other, the parents felt as if the scene before them was a lovely peek at the future, and the child Kyo and Gertie were reading to, their own.

The kids made it as far as H is for hustling hyenas dressed real fine when JJ's heavy eyelids fell for the last time, and he drifted off to peaceful sleep.

Gerald motioned to his wife with his hand to back up and both tiptoed backwards into their bedroom and quietly shut the door before the kids left the room.

Gertie pulled the sheets a little higher up onto JJ's torso and then kissed his cheek, and when she did; the tiny boy shifted, rolling over onto his side with a peaceful smile as Willie curled beside him in a tight ball purring. Then, with her index finger held to her lips, Gertie tiptoed out of the room still carrying the children's book crooked in her arm as Kyo turned off his lamp.

Kyo would be on his way out of the room as well, but he hung back, reached into his nightstand drawer, spayed a little of the cologne Gertie loved onto his shirt, and tiptoed out, closing the door silently.

Losing track of time, Gertie whispered, "What time is it, 'K? I have to home by midnight."

Kyo grinned and showed Gertie his watch whispering, "Ten sharp," The boy motioned with his head towards his closed bedroom door. "We got JJ down way under the wire."

* * *

Finally making it to the living room, the television was still on playing the Empire Strikes Back on a loop.

Gertie sat down to watch the movie she knew by heart, and Kyo asked, "You want anything to eat?"

The girl admitted, "That pie I scraped off of JJ looked pretty good."

"You got it!" The boy winked and pointed at his friend, and soon he walked back into the room with two Yahoo sodas and a slice of cherry pie with two forks. "We were lucky, Ducky, we got the last slice." Gertie smiled at Kyo, not even irritated with him for calling her the nickname she wasn't quite so fond of.

When he handed her a bottle of the fizzing liquid, Gertie cautioned, "We need to be careful and not make a mess in here or your mom will kill us."

Kyo dismissed the potential for disaster, "If we spill something, I'll just tell mom it was your fault, she likes you and won't get mad."

Gertie smiled wryly, and examined the carpet, "She doesn't like me that much."

As the two shared the slice of pie, each taking turns cutting off a piece and carefully putting it into their mouths with their hands under the forks, Kyo smiled. "You're a good reader, Shortman."

"Thank you." She said with a lilt, "I'm nearly a high school graduate you know." The girl joked as Kyo scooted closer to her.

As Darth Vader cautioned Boba Fett about there being no disintegrations, Kyo turned to Gertie comforted in the knowledge that there would be no rejection, "'Gert?"

"Yeah?" She asked knowingly.

After having some time to ruminate over the events in the back yard, Kyo wondered, "How did you know what I wrote in the book I gave you?"

Kyo stabbed his last piece of pie from the plate as Gertie took hers. "I sent a picture of the inscription in an e-mail to your mom this afternoon and asked her to translate it for me."

Kyo choked in horror, almost spitting out his bite of pie. "You showed that to my mom?"

Gertie looked into his big brown eyes and stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers, "Well, I didn't know what it said, and you can't fault a girl for being curious can you?"

No longer caring as her beautiful green eyes penetrated his, he shook his head. "It's a veritable pre-requisite of being female I suppose." Kyo did something he had fantasized about for over a year, and began to toy with Gertie's soft blonde ponytail.

Gertie returned Kyo's loving gaze as she traced her index finger down the bridge of his nose. "You know, there's something else I've been extremely curious about all evening."

The clever boy placed the empty plate they had been eating from onto the end table, "Me too, actually." Kyo said smoothly as he scooted closer to the girl, closing the gap between them, and sliding his arm around her as he gently touched her chin with his free hand.

Gertie leaned forward, allowing her head to rise as Kyo's gentle fingers led her face and lips closer to his.

Upon closing their eyes, the sweet melding of the flavors of Yahoo cola and cherry pie as their lips touched was the most delectable thing either of them had tasted the entire evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Arnold was created by Craig Bartlett, and is owned by Viacom Inc. No infringement on their properties is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> Transformers and the character names "Optimus Prime" and "Tracks", belong to Hasbro Inc., under license from Takara/Tomy Ltd. No infringement is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> The Star Wars trilogy, A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back, and Return of the Jedi, as well as all related characters were created by George Lucas, and are owned by Walt Disney Productions Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The name Buddy Saltzmann comes from the title of a Maxwell Implosion track entitled, "Buddy Saltzmann's Hideout". No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> The Hustle was composed and performed by Van McCoy. No infringement on his work is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The songs Mr. Blue Sky, as well as, Shine A Little Love were both written by Jeff Lynne, and performed by the Electric Light Orchestra. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from The Maxwell Implosion instrumental "Treat Her Groovy", from the album Small Circle of Friends. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.


	12. Dare

As the shuffling sounds of their footfalls on the boardwalk mingled with those of the gathering surrounded them, the young couple enjoyed the ambiance of tirelessly looping calliope music carried on the air accentuated by a popular Jo Stafford song played from a nearby bandstand.

Added to the mingled aural stimulation, there was a hint of the briny mist hot dogs steamed in, the tart aroma of fresh squeezed lemons used to make lemonade, and the bouquet of freshly popped corn dusted with salt and dripping with rich, real, newly un-rationed butter. Not as pleasant, but typical, there was also the unmistakable odor of various foods being fried in gallons of heavy, nearly burning oil dwindling down to the last days of their rank life while an overdressed man and equally donned woman worked their way through the happy post-war crowd.

It had been two weeks since V-J Day, and the young man was thankful for the two lucky breaks that fate had seen fit to give him. First, he hadn’t shipped out on the suicide mission that invading mainland Japan would be.

The second greatest boon given was that he met her again.

Fourteen years had eclipsed since he’d last seen the tormentor of his early youth, and despite the fact that she had changed from a pig tailed little imp who teased him mercilessly when he was a kid, into the buxom blonde bombshell he escorted tonight, he still recognized her on the crowded Hillwood City sidewalk two days earlier.

She had legs for days, but surmised it was her eyes that sparked his memory, those same pretty green eyes that told him there was so much more to her than simply the bluster of a bully way back then, though she did manage to annoy him greatly.

After a short conversation and asking her for a date with the clever excuse of 'catching up', here they were, two days later, on the tail end of their first date.

Growing up, Gertie gave him unvarnished hell, but after basking in her glow for only one evening, Phil found that he would be more than willing to be on the receiving end of as much fiery torment as she could dish out.

At the moment there were only two things Phillip Shortman was concerned with, one, trying as hard as he could to impress this girl while he had her to himself, and two, making sure that their first date would not be the last, because he refused to allow this woman to slip by a second time.

The young woman he towed behind him through the rising tide of the crowd like a top-heavy, listing barge, was forced to keep pulling her black, off the shoulder dress up so that it didn't reveal two much more interesting things than her bare shoulders. Despite that inconvenient fact, she was wholly enjoying herself; especially the company of the old acquaintance that she had once treated badly, but in her heart cared for rather deeply.

She had come to believe there were no accidents in life, so could this be fate telling her a second chance had come knocking at her door, or merely an opportunity to make good on an old debt? The uncertainty of her thoughts were irritating, and along with the embarrassing fact that her dress though inanimate, had developed a life of its own, there was the added difficulty she was having keeping up with her guide while navigating the cracked, knot-holed boardwalk in stiletto heels.

Finally, the struggling woman could take no more and stopped abruptly, firmly pulling the man's hand making him jerk and rebound in his hurried tracks. She tried not to regress to her mostly forgotten childhood behavior and act irritated with him, but old habits were hard to break.

Impatiently, Gertie wanted to scream at the top of her voice, 'Hold your horses, Chin Boy' but settled for a much nicer, but insistent, "You're going to have to stop and wait a minute, Phil, I'm having dress problems, and I have to get these shoes off my feet before I twist an ankle!"

Worried about the time constraints of a vendor who may be closing soon, and regretful that he would need to get up much too early the next morning for his new job, Phil ceded; "I'm sorry, Gertie, I'm just afraid that the place we're going to will be closed soon and I don't want you to miss out on this!"

After she removed her shoes, she remarked, "I forgot how exciting this place was and how much I missed it. What with the blackouts and the boardwalk being closed, it feels like I haven't been here in forever." As Phil Shortman gently grasped her hand and began to escort, rather than drag her, Gertie stated, "I'd like to have an idea where we're going though."

"You said you wanted dessert, didn't you?" Phil answered with a questioning wink.

"We're nowhere near Holly's or the five and dime." She declared in a clueless fashion with just a tidbit of frustration in her voice. "Where in the world are you taking me that will be open for dessert at this hour if not those two places?" Perplexed, Gertie demonstrated the futility of their quest with her upheld arm and hand. "There's been tons of elephant ear and funnel cake stands we've passed, and that’s pretty much all that’s here."

Phil immediately stopped walking and as he flung an arm to his side to punctuate his point, he made his thoughts on the inconveniently named deep fat fried bread clear for the first and last time. "I’m sorry, ‘Gert, but I've had my fill of anything related to elephants in any shape or form for a lifetime!"

Gertie gave her childhood acquaintance a strange look, but before she could ask why his observation was fact, he declared, "What we're having for dessert is way better than any old sundae, greasy fried dough, or pastry Holly’s can conjure up anyway." When Gertie’s eyes met him with doubt, Phil said with a wink and an air of mystery, "Hey, trust me, I’m the guy who got you Dino Spumoni’s autograph, ain’t I?"

“I suppose.” Wondering what ‘Steely’ Phil was up to with a sigh, because from childhood memory it could be anything, she hooked two more of her fingers through the ankle straps of her shoes to continue plodding along beside him, all the while getting picks, and runs in the soles of the brand new nylons she bought at Budnick's.

Even though rationing for the war effort was over for the most part, and silk was once more available in some outlets, Gertrude continued to purchase the synthetic product because she liked it much better. Nylon was stronger, lasted longer, moths didn't snack on it, and she could tie up the tomato plants growing in her victory garden with the hose when they wore out.

"Here we are at last, Miss Smythe-Higgins!" Phil said with relief to see the booth was still operating as the smell of hot, artificially colored and flavored candy permeated the air. As Phil guided Gertie to the stand, a dexterous showman stood over two gleaming metal bowls, artfully twirling paper cones down into them to craft light, unruly strings of molten sugar into nondescript mountains of plush, edible fluff. "This is the sweetest, most delectable dessert in town you can get, this time of night, My Dear."

"Oh!" Gertie exhaled with delight as Phil walked away from her, turning with a wink as he bought two gigantic, five cent servings of spun sugar.

"For you, my dear, the best dessert you'll ever have." Phil gallantly flirted as he handed Gertie a gigantic mound of blue fluff on a flimsy white cone as he took a large bite from his pink colored mountain of sugar. "A belated welcome home from your travels abroad." Phil winked cleverly. "I bet you can't get this in China or India can you?"

"No, not on the whole." She smiled warmly, "Buddhist cloisters eschew the material ownership of cotton candy machines." Gertie ended cautiously, "Even if you could get cotton candy on the streets of Calcutta, quite frankly I don't think I'd want to eat it." Her nose wrinkled. "Especially near the banks of the Ganges." Remembering her manners, Gertie humbly remembered, "Thank you so much for this, Phil." She grinned, and as the man laughed, Gertie added pointing to her sugary treat, "You were right too, this is way better than any old cake or pastry from Holly's." She gushed with excitement over the simple treat laced with warm memories. "I haven't had cotton candy in ages, since I was a little girl, actually!" Gertie giggled with childish delight as she pulled the soft stringy material from the mass and placed it on her tongue to melt. "Oh, this is so good!" With a lilt the woman pronounced, "Ambrosia for the gods."

Well pleased with himself and the clever choice he made that seemed to be a hit, Phil pleasantly grinned as he and Gertie walked along the well worn plank sidewalk eating in comfortable silence as people cheered at fireworks from a brightly lit Ferris wheel, barkers sold tickets to the shooting gallery, and a large bell rang with incredible demonstrations of strength.

Soon they were at the end of the wooden walkway, near the docks of the pier, and sounds of the midway had grown into a din that could be accentuated only by the yelps of people on the roller coaster. "Thank you so much for everything, Phil, I'm having a really good time tonight." With a more serious tone, Gertie admitted, "I am so glad that I ran into you the other day."

Phil gave the woman a charming smile and asked, "I am too. What are the chances of us meeting on the street after all these years?"

Gertrude smiled, "I'd say fairly good, seeing as we did."

Phil laughed at the funny truth of the statement and she smiled at the old nickname he had for her when they were children, but then a swell of guilt ran over her. She was glad that she ran into him so that if nothing else, she could make an overdue apology. "Phil, I'm so sorry I teased you when we were children and played all those mean, awful pranks on you." Gertrude looked down and admitted regretfully, "It was wrong of me to do and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

Phil sort of choked on his pink, sugar infused slobber, and Gertie slapped his back in the vain efforts of helping him dislodge it. After settling down, Phil exclaimed, "Cheese and crackers, woman, we were only little kids way back then!"

Gertie looked upwards, "Well, I know that, but passage of time doesn't erase wrong doing, and I wanted to apologize to you in case you were holding a grudge." She added, "What mistakes we don't make right in this life, we must correct in the next." Phil looked at her like she was insane, so to regain the point she was trying to make, the remorseful woman added, "I know I was bound to have hurt your feelings despite it being all those years ago seeing as you knew exactly what I was talking about."

Phil laughed, "You've spent way too much time in that thin Tibetan mountain air if you think I'd have it in for you after all this time, Gertie." Noticing the beseeching look the woman gave him, Phil gracefully dropped the subject as he took her hand and kissed it as if he were a courtier, and she royalty. "I didn't require it, but if it means so much to you, thank you for your apology, I forgive you for all past trespasses, Miss Smythe-Higgins."

Relieved, Gertie turned to look out over the river's edge while placing an elbow on the rail as she took bites from her airy dessert, watching the light reflect from the waves of the water rather glad Phil hadn’t let go of her hand as the warmth from his fingers transferred to hers.

Trying to not make light of the woman's beliefs even though he put little credence in them himself, Phil still had to ask to satisfy his curiosity, "Do you really believe in all that re-incarnation stuff you learned from your travels overseas?"

"Let's put it this way," She added with a humorous note extending her index finger, "There's no way I could have gotten so weird by living only once."

Phil wouldn't dare ruin the evening and admit that she had a point gathering from experiences he had with her from their childhood, but thankfully the army trained him when to remain silent, and this was a prime example to pay heed to it.

"I think we meet people when we need to, some come into our lives and stay as long as they need us, or we need them and then they go," Then her voice became warmer as she turned her gaze towards him, "Others, I think, we are destined to know over the course of many lifetimes." Gertie admitted, "I like to think that sometimes people have such a close bond, that they are fortunate enough to never be parted and endure with each other for as long as their souls exist." She paused thoughtfully while looking upwards, towards the mysterious, starlit sky. "Perhaps until the end of what we think is time."

Phil said nothing again, but smiled at her warmly, pondering the beauty of her words. It would be nice if that were true, never really having to say goodbye to the people you loved, but merely a lovely, 'see you later' instead.

As Phil Shortman thought about it a little more seriously, the kind man gazed into Gertie’s addictive green eyes again, falling deeper into them the longer he stared. Who was he to look down his nose at her beliefs? He had seen first hand the cruel horrors that humans could make real fueled by their beliefs.

Even though hers were a little off the wall, at least they were benign.

"It's getting a little cold, don't you think?" The woman remarked, yanking the man's thoughts away from the former ones, and in an instant, Phil's jacket was adorning her naked shoulders, and Gertie instantly resisted, "I can't take your coat, now you're going to get chilly."

Phil lied, and shook his head, "No, please take it; I was getting a little warm anyway."

Gertie cut him a suspicious look, observing the rising goose pimples on his skin. "I see." She took Phil's hand and added, "Well, at least I can keep your hand warm," With a rose tinged blush running across her high cheeks, she ran her warm hands over his chilled arm. "It's the least I could do for you."

As the waves of the river quietly lapped the encrusted piles of the dock, Phil got an idea he was just dying to attempt. "What does your fairy floss taste like?"

Gertie took yet another bite, and looked upwards, "I really can't tell, all I taste is sweet now, you try some." Not thinking, she licked her sticky fingers, pinched off a small section of the candy, and held it out towards Phil. "I think it might be a raspberry type flavor, but I could be wrong."

Despite the fact that they had only become re-acquainted in the past four hours and he shouldn't get his hopes up, Phil did think about what Gertie said earlier about their meeting not being coincidence, at least by her measure.

Taking the chance of a lifetime, Phil disregarded the piece of cotton candy the woman held in her fingers for him and instead, he dipped his lips towards hers for a stolen kiss.

After a fleeting amount of time that passed much too quickly for both of them, Phil broke the silence between them with warmth rising on his cheeks. "It's, ah, raspberries for sure."

Phil looked into Gertie's eyes, and her face was flushed, looking rather surprised. He wondered if she was going to scream bloody murder, slap his face, or leave him there by himself in the dark as the price for his boldness. To his surprise, instead of taking any of the aforementioned courses of action, Gertie asked with a wry smile, "Is Mighty Pete still standing?"

Phil did a double take and answered as he rubbed the back of his head, "It was this afternoon as far as I know, despite the best efforts of all them ding dang kids the neighborhood’s crawlin’ with."

Slyly she asked, "Is there still a tree house in it?"

Phil nodded, grateful for the distraction. "Oh, yeah, but it’s an above ground pillbox these days. The mean little brats that run the joint now launch acorns, lit firecrackers, chicken bones, marbles, paper planes with rocks in ‘em, and whatever else they can find to wing at everyone who passes by below them!" With perverse relief, he ended, “Thank goodness there’s been a rubber shortage or they’d have slingshots too!”

Taking delight in goading him because of his reaction, Gertrude feigned surprise as she hid her smile behind a hand. "Chicken bones?"

"You heard me right, Lady! Chicken bones! Tons of the bloomin’ things to be exact!" He waved his hand away in disgust as Gertie hid a smile with her free hand for Philip’s benefit. “Seeing as there’s been so much strict rationing, I don’t even wanna’ know how they got their grubby little mitts on so much poultry!” He scoffed, “They’re probably up there sacrificing’ the poor things to their hero and eatin‘ what‘s left over.”

“Hoppalong Cassidy?” Gertie wondered facetiously.

“The Devil!” Phil spat with irritation as Gertrude laughed at the tone of his voice, and then he added with even more venom, "The biggest kick in the face is that they throw stuff at me too.” He lifted his arm in testament. “Even after I paid for the brand new flapper and chain for the commode me ‘an Jimmy Kafka hauled up there and installed for ‘em, the ungrateful jitterbuggin’ little toads!” A denunciation worthy of a man three times his age, Phil ranted, “If we threw stuff down at people on the sidewalk when we were their age, we would have had our backsides dusted with a hickory switch but good, and that would be for starters!" Phil took an angry bite from his spool of cotton candy and ended with consternation, "Kids sure have changed a lot from when we were kids!"

"We acted just the same, Phil!" Gertrude wisely observed, "It isn't children who have changed, but we who have changed." Gertie laughed, putting her hand on Phil's shoulder to support herself, and despite the fact that he tried not to; Phil had a tiny scowl on his lips for his former nemesis.

Gertrude took another bite of her candy fluff, and turned to walk away, but when she did, she forcefully declared, "Well, come on then!" She said with false impatience as she motioned with her hand and arm, "You've already made me ruin my good stockings, Chin Boy, and since you've insisted on bringing up such wonderful childhood memories, we might as well go on ahead and climb into Mighty Pete like we did when we were kids before the new management gets back!"

With wide eyes, Phil followed Gertie with apprehension, but already hopelessly in love he wondered, "Y-ya’ wanna' climb up inta’ it?"

"So," Gertie asked innocently, with no hurtful humor or sarcasm the little girl she once was would have employed, "You're still afraid of heights, huh?" The sweet woman assured the handsome man who held her hand, "You don't have to go if you don't want to for my sake."

During the war, Phil hurt his head rather badly when he fell into a hole dug for a latrine, been under hostile fire, held prisoner by Nazis who tried to feed him spoiled canned meat, and chased by an enraged French father with a pitchfork, but after surviving those perils, he was ashamed to still be fearful or heights. Rubbing the back of his neck, Phil skirted over certain life experiences as he explained, "After that tumble I took down Hawk Mountain almost killed me, it kind of gave me a new perception on little things like pain and heights, that's for sure." The man looked deeply into Gertie's eyes and felt a peace that was indescribable in her presence. For some reason, knowing he would be safe with her, Phil simply swung her arm and pointed at their warm hands which were clasped together, "I tell you what; I'll go with you just as long as you keep doing this, 'Gert."

True, Phil was terrified at the prospect of climbing up into that tree, but he would gladly scale the high, hot gates of Hell barehanded to get to the other side if she was there waiting for him.

Gertie had another piece of candy floss pinched in her fingers, but Phil swooped down like a greedy sea gull and ate it right out of her hand, sucking it right off of her fingers with his wet lips. With a sigh, and a casual roll of her eyes that wasn't irritated in the least, the curious woman asked, "I thought your father always told you to never eat raspberries?"

Wisely, Phil said, "Well, it is good advice, but exceptions can always be made, Gertrude." With a smile, and a warm arm going around her covered shoulders, he added, "Depending on the individual of course."

Gertie grinned wickedly. “While we’re reminiscing, on the way over maybe we can drag sticks on Mister Hocktooey’s fence slats for old times sake too.”

Phil removed the new fedora adorning his head out of respect while shaking his head. “Poor Mr. Hocktooey.” Remembering that her escort was the only kid in the neighborhood dumb enough to get close enough to the mean old man to get nailed with his well-aimed saliva, Gertie eyed Phil’s suspiciously reverential tone as he mentioned, “You know that the hateful old poot died last spring, don’t ya’?”

Gertie nodded sadly and then patted Phil’s shoulder. “Yes, I know.” With the straightest, most serious face she could muster, Gertrude cracked her knuckles. “If you’re feeling sentimental enough for a reunion though, I’ve got a shovel, some rope, and an old kerosene lantern in the shed at home.”

Phil’s eyes widened and as the two of them looked at one another they began to crack, Gertie laughing with a near insane sounding cackle and Phil chortling on the verge of tears. “You haven’t changed a bit, Gertie!”

Happily, Gertie pointed both her index fingers at him, answering slyly, “Back at ya’, sweet cheeks!”

With a new, unspoken understanding of one another, on the way back towards the crowds, the pair shared stories about their travels apart, including Phil's well-edited version of his top-secret mission in the war with the not so tasty chicken and pork by product known as Cham. As Gertie regaled Phil with exotic locations she had traveled to, they both made sure to plan for future adventures, this time shared.

* * *

With her head poked outside their bedroom door and her glasses perched on the end of her nose, Phoebe resembled a Siamese cat as she hissed, "Gerald! What are you doing?” As the curious man tiptoed towards their door quickly as possible, Phoebe circled her arm like an impatient traffic cop, directing him towards their bedroom. Before he could answer, Phoebe yanked her husband into their abode quickly as Willie opportunistically scampered after as she chided, “Get in here!"

Phoebe closed the door quietly before tearing into her nosy husband. "What is wrong with you?"

Gerald shrugged, "What?" His wife looked at him sideways and then he glanced to the side looking guilty. "I just wondered what they were doing is all."

"I would have thought it be obvious what they were doing." She said dryly, and then giving her husband a dirty look, Phoebe finished lightly chastising into him. "I can't believe you actually went down there and bothered them!"

The man grinned widely, "I didn't bother them I just poked my head in from the kitchen, and believe me, Phoebes, they didn’t notice me at all." Gerald added wickedly, "If I had six high school marching bands following me playing 'The Stars and Stripes Forever' they wouldn't have had the first clue that I was there." Phoebe's eyes widened with concern, but before she could ask for details, her snooping soul mate added, "They were only kissing." When Phoebe’s eyebrows rose, Gerald held up his hands to allay her before she asked. "The only thing their hands were doing was feeding each other cheese curls."

"Crunchy of puffed?" The woman asked with relief.

"Puffed." Gerald answered.

"They are in love." Phoebe added with a slight smile, thinking of more serious things.

Gerald grimaced, sticking out his tongue in disgust. "Who kisses and eats cheese curls at the same time?" The man made a face, "It can't smell good and that electric orange cheese gets stuck in the corner of your mouth too." Gerald gave Phoebe a look. "I’m not sure, but I think they were dipping them in maple syrup too."

Phoebe grimaced, "Oh that is so disgusting!" Then she shook her head. "I don't know why Kyo puts maple syrup on everything!" Phoebe thought for a moment as her voice trailed away, "Maybe I shouldn't have eaten so many pancakes while I was pregnant with him." With her mind on such, Phoebe thought of an inevitable temptation for the fledgling couple downstairs and her tone turned serious. "You need to sit down and have a serious talk with Kyo about this and where it might lead."

"Diabetes?" Gerald asked with a big grin as his irritated wife cut him a look he didn't see while he tossed his still damp robe to the floor and began rummaging through his underwear drawer. With a sigh no man could miss, even if he were deaf, Phoebe picked up the errant article of clothing and hung it on the hook two steps away where it belonged.

Phoebe ventured a peek at him bent over his open dresser drawers, then immediately trained her squinted eyes elsewhere.

It looked like someone had set a shaved goat loose in their bedroom.

“Besides, Kyo is nearly eighteen now.” He waved his arm dismissively to his side as he rummaged through his underwear drawer. “I gave the boy a talk about the birds, bees, flowers and the trees years ago, he knows about how things are, and how women work." Completely off topic, Gerald held a pair of underwear in each hand as he turned and asked with semi annoyance, "Where are my plaid boxers, ‘Hon, the ones with the smiley faces on them?"

With eyes rolled up Phoebe answered in annoyance, "We're not clocks, Gerald, and I threw those worn out boxers out weeks ago. They weren‘t even fit to use as work rags!"

With consternation, Gerald asked, "Awww! Now why did you go and do that for? Those drawers were still perfectly good!"

Phoebe exhaled a frustrated hot breath from her nose, one only a wife could produce, "If you were in prison, Gerald, the strategic locations of the holes in those boxers would be just as good as ringing a dinner bell!"

Her husband made a surprised, yet twisted face of disgust as Phoebe's eyelids narrowed. “That’s nasty!”

She pointed her finger at him. "You're not going to change the subject either."

Gerald sighed as he pulled a different pair of plaid underwear up onto his hips and Willie jumped up on the bed. As Gerald sat down, the feline rolled over onto his back for attention, but the couple was otherwise occupied. "What do you want me to say to him, ‘Phoebes?" The man playfully dismissed what he had stumbled into in his mind. "They're not going to hop in the sack right off the bat if that's what you're worried about!"

Phoebe countered cautiously, "Well I am worried about that!" She crossed her arms looking to the side and quietly admitted, "I realize that Kyo and Gertie are just now getting together and I'm glad about it, I truly am; we've both been hoping for it for a long time." Phoebe's voice turned more urgent. "Eventually this issue will come up for them though, and I want Kyo to know what we expect of him, and to make sure that he will be responsible."

Gerald looked to the side as his wife explained in a cautious tone, "I know they're almost adults, but they're still kids too. You know very well how things can be, and how easy it can be to," Phoebe attempted to sanitize their own teenaged dalliance that evolved into much more than either one of them anticipated. "Get carried away in the heat of the moment and throw caution to the wind." Phoebe stroked Gerald's shoulder, "I could talk to him, but this is more of a father son conversation, I’m sure he would be more comfortable talking about it with you since you're both men.” She added carefully, “Kyo would be more inclined to listen to you as well."

Gerald shook his head, "He would listen to you too, and I have spoken with to Kyo about things like this. He understands that with actions there are consequences."

Phoebe said with a cutting voice, "That situation isn't like others." Gerald nodded in agreement with the truth of the statement as Phoebe continued, "It's hard to be logical and think things through when all you can think about is gratification." Then she looked her husband straight in the eye. "You may have forgotten the summer before we went to college, but I certainly haven't." Phoebe looked upwards admitting, "We both got too carried away in the heat of the moment if you'll remember."

"Everything turned out okay." Gerald said with relief despite the passage of over twenty five years from the event to then.

Phoebe cocked an eyebrow, "It was the longest week of my life, Geraldo," He cocked an eyebrow as she added truthfully, "Whether you want to admit it or not, you were more worried than you ever let on too."

The smile left Gerald's face completely, he cleared his throat, and comforted his wife, "Honey, Kyo and Gertie are both smart kids and they won't do anything," He searched for the correct word, "irresponsible."

Phoebe nodded, "I know they are, but I don't want Kyo and Gertie to," The woman shook her head, "I've seen the faces on some of these young girls that come in to see me for consultation, and they're terrified, even if their family is supporting them; and the father has taken responsibility."

Phoebe looked to the side, "Some of them choose to have the baby, some I refer to another doctor." The woman said with disappointment in herself because it clashed with her personal values. "Even when some of the mothers decide to go through with the birth, they give the child up for adoption." The caring woman looked her husband in the eye, "I've seen the mothers of those babies and some of them won't even touch them after they're born. Even the ones who keep their children feel as if their lives are over and it is a sin to give birth joyless, or to see a child as a burden instead of a blessing."

She shook her head, "Kyo and Gertie have so much that they haven't experienced or done in life, and they can't do that if," Then Phoebe leveled with her husband and exposed the true nature of her concerns, "I just don't want Kyo and Gertie to make a mistake in the course of a few minutes that they'll have to live with the decision of how they dealt with it for the rest of their lives." Deeply concerned she ended, "They both deserve better than that."

Gerald kissed Phoebe's temple, "You're right, Honey, and I'll talk to 'K tomorrow, promise." He joked, "You know Arnold is going to make some sort of violent threat towards Kyo's life concerning Gertie, right?"

Phoebe nodded, "I know, it's a dad thing and I'll try to look past it.”

"Your dad offered to slit my belly open with his katana and then hang me from the nearest tree in Tina Park with my own organs if I touched you." Gerald grinned at Phoebe's expression as he pulled the sheets back on his side of the bed and Phoebe sat down on her side.

Playfully, Phoebe added, "For all the good it did."

When she laid down next to him, the loving man pulled Phoebe into his arms, and she in turn rolled over and placed her hand across his chest and put her head on his shoulder. Gerald kissed her temple and asked with a sly whisper, "You still my girl?"

"I'll always be your girl." Phoebe admitted with love as she sighed and nestled her cheek against her sweet husband's chest.

Gerald smiled, "I would have been scared, but you know I wouldn't have abandoned you if you were going to have a baby then don't you?"

Phoebe rose on an elbow, brushed his cheek with her hand, and then with a fond smile, placed her index finger on the tip of his nose. "You didn't even have to say that, Gerald Johannsen."

With a wicked grin, Gerald admitted as she settled back down into his warm embrace, "You know," His voice trailed off, "You kinda' scared me that night, Puddin'." The devilish man tickled Phoebe's stomach, making her giggle. "I had no idea that the sweet, quiet girl I had fallen in love with hid such a wild, unhinged tigress inside."

As the crafty man purred and their lips neared for a kiss, the fat, furry monkey wrench to Gerald's best laid plans walked across the bed and climbed onto his leg. "Good grief, Willie, get offa' there!" Gerald exclaimed in discomfort as Phoebe had a good laugh at his expense. Unable to bear the discomfort of the cat’s weight on his flesh any longer, Gerald picked the animal up underneath his front arms and chest, making its hindquarters fall onto the bed between them.

Phoebe burst out into more laughter as Gerald gently pulled the cat up closer between them, and as Willie’s hind legs struggled to keep up, the quickstep of the cat was hilarious. "Has Willie ever walked on you?"

Phoebe joked, "Are you kidding? It feels like someone is poking their bony knuckles into your skin as hard as they can."

The cat's purring got exponentially louder with each stroke the couple gave him and as the loving animal gravitated towards Phoebe's chest, it began rubbing its face over her bosom while drooling. In response, Gerald gently pulled the cat away from his wife, declaring with mild annoyance, "Kyo should have named you Titty Man, you little ‘perv."

Phoebe sighed harshly, "Oh, Gerald!"

"What?" He asked innocently.

"That was absolutely filthy!" She admonished, trying not to smile at the delightful naughtiness of it.

“It’s true though!” Gerald lightly laughed as the playful cat rolled over on his back once more and put his front and back paws on Gerald's palm as the playful man moved them in a circular motion. "I think our little charmer here was a dirty old man in a former life, ‘cause he can't stay off a woman’s chest to save his life."

Phoebe scratched Gerald underneath the chin, and the cat-like flirt asked slyly, "Shall I call you that then?" As Phoebe's lips neared Gerald's and her delicate fingers grazed his cheek, Willie immediately popped up and insinuated himself between the couple, insistently nudging Phoebe's hand with his head for more petting.

"Jealous much?" Gerald asked as the cat plopped down between the two and enjoyed two pairs of hands pet him alternately, eventually wrapping his clawless paws around Gerald's index finger, bringing it down for a vigorous licking and a light chew. "You're an attention whore, you know that, cat?"

Phoebe smiled and addressed her husband, "So are you."

Gerald reasoned, "I deserve all the attention I get!"

"Why is that?" Phoebe asked with a grin.

"Because I'm wonderful in every way." He answered with an obvious tone as he rolled his eyes. “You of all people should know that, because you are consistently treated to overdoses of my awesome daily.”

Phoebe conceded defeat dryly. "Yes, I like my vitamin G, I'll give you that," Gerald smiled but it was short lived when she added, "but Willie is just as awesome as you, but unlike our sweet little fur baby, you can frequently be a big pain in the butt, Geraldo."

Then the scoffing man pointed to himself with both his index fingers, with an entirely innocent look on his face, and mouthed incredulously, "Me?"

Gerald was tempted to place the cat on the floor and make some horizontal suggestions to his wife but the feline was made of rubber; and Willie would have just jumped right back up on the bed anyway. Separated by the cat and obviously not going to be allowed to have any fun at all by the demanding animal, the couple snuggled as best they could while Willie yawned and curled into a more comfortable position for a nap between them. With sheer disappointment, Gerald muttered under his breath to the animal, "Thanks a lot, spoilsport."

Phoebe chuckled, then said drowsily, "Don't blame the cat entirely, darling, I'm really tired." She gathered Gerald’s hand into hers and kissed the back of it, insinuating with an impish sideways smile and naughty tone as she tickled the rough curly hair on his bare chest, "Breakfast, promise."

With a wicked chuckle, Gerald fumbled for the remote beside him on the night stand and turned on the television. While he watched, he gently ran his soft fingers up and down Phoebe's forearm and soon they were stroking Phoebe's long black hair, noticing the odd grey ones through his fingers as the cat's rhythmic purr began to quiet. Bored with the program that was on, the loving man asked his wife, "Is there anything you want to see, Phoebes?" After not getting a response, Gerald questioned, "Sweetie?"

Gerald looked down and his wife's eyes were closed, her glasses slightly tilted on her face. The thoughtful man gently lifted them from her face as he had many times before, folded them, and then placed them to the side on the nightstand beside her. As she softly breathed, he bent his head down, kissed Phoebe's soft, warm cheek and whispered into her ear, "I love you."

Willie's eyes opened slightly, and as the cat yawned and nestled the side of his head back into the gap between he and his wife, Gerald admitted, "Yeah, I love you too." When the cat blinked sleepily while looking up at Gerald, he slicked a single finger back across the feline‘s head and added humorously, "I am not kissing you goodnight, though."

With a fond smile, Gerald lowered the volume of the television to channel surf, completely content with his life, hoping the phone did not ring to spoil the moment.

* * *

"Oh, we are so incredibly gross, 'K," Gertie admitted as fact as she licked her fingers, "But you were right about the maple syrup, though, it is good on cheese curls."

"I told you so!" The smitten Kyo declared with great certainty, "Maple syrup is the new ketchup."

Gertie wiped her mouth with a tissue and then pulled it over her erect fingertips. "We are never doing this again, though."

With horror, Kyo asked, "Kissing?"

Gertie rolled her eyes, "No, 'K," The girl said with a silly tone as she pointed her finger at the half-filled snack bowl. "The cheese puffs in conjunction with kissing." After studying the boy beside her for a few moments she snatched a clean tissue from the box on the end table, dabbed it on her tongue, and began to swipe cheese powder off of the corners of Kyo's lips. "Smooching and cheese puffs just don't mix."

Instantly repulsed by the revolting action the girl was engaging in, Kyo backed away holding Gertie's hand. "Yuck! Don't do that!"

Gertie shrugged, "Why?"

Kyo shook his head, "Because it's nasty and you're not my mom."

"We've been playing tonsil hockey off and on all evening and you're worried about getting my spit on your mouth now?" Gertie asked incredulously.

Unable to argue any further, Kyo simply let the girl have her way with him. "How are we going to break the news to the Hillwood High community that we're a couple now?" Gertie asked with a lilt.

The boy shrugged, "Telegraph, Telephone, Tele-Jella and Andrea?" Kyo scoffed, "All we'll really have to do is hold hands for a couple of seconds in front of them and they'll have the news spread around Hillwood High faster than it takes to make a pair of glasses at Suber's Boutique."

Gertie laughed, and then eyed Kyo. "I know they're both the drama mamas, but they don't work that fast."

Kyo scoffed, "The whole school knew Brian Plummer and Stacey Wilmoth were broken up before they did almost."

Gertie hated to admit, "This is true."

Kyo took a sip of drink and rubbed his fingers on Gertie's good hand, being unable to take it all in despite the truth, he asked, "So, you're really my girlfriend now?"

Gertie smiled as she leaned her head on Kyo's shoulder training her eyes on the television, but paying no real attention to it as she laced her fingers in his. "'Fraid so, I can be stubborn and hard to live with, so fair warning since you're going to be stuck with me for awhile."

The boy's lips touched her temple as he put his arm around her. "What else is new?" He smiled wryly; truly grateful that he was finally with the girl he was crazy for. Expressing such would gather a response of non belief from her, but he conveyed his love in a way she would appreciate, and know was truthful. "I couldn't get rid of you if I tried, Ducky." Then Kyo asked with caution, "Would you like for me to give Steve away? I don't want my snake getting in between us or anything."

Flummoxed by the comment, Gertie gave the boy a double take, "Good grief, 'K, he's your pet! I never even thought about you getting rid of him and I certainly wouldn't ever ask." Then the girl added with authority and a shaking index finger to accentuate her feelings, "I want you to know right now for certain that I'm never going to feed, touch, or hold him though," Gertie then clarified her final answer with an assured hand movement to the side, "like ever, okay?"

The boy held up his hands at reaching the accord of, "Fair enough."

The two watched their movie, sipped soda, and ate more orange yellow food, when it occurred to Kyo to ask, "I wonder what Miles and Courtney are doing?"

Gertie checked her watch and then threatened, "I don't know, but if they don't call me in the next few minutes I'm calling them." With that, the two settled and began watching the movie they had been ignoring in lieu of more interesting activities.

As the movie played on, Gertie's mind wandered, and it was to unhappier topics.

While Kyo watched he couldn't really get into the movie, noticing that Gertie's expression became grimmer by the moment. He knew that she wouldn't be satisfied until she knew her brother and Courtney were safe, but he could sense that it wasn't the only thing bothering her.

That bothered him.

* * *

They had been walking for almost twenty minutes and at last, the long, curvy shadow of Courtney's car could be seen in the far distance, and even though their conversation picked up well in the beginning, they had fallen into silence. It was comfortable enough, but it seemed through an unspoken agreement they chose to avoid the one topic that the two of them wished to discuss the most.

As he examined it with a feeling of doom, all he could think about was what Gertie, and then his mother and father were going to say when he got home as he held the his sister’s cellular phone in between his index finger and thumb, examining with dread, the spider webbed pattern of its shattered face. Trying desperately to not sound whiny, but failing miserably, Miles remarked, "This is the fourth phone I've trashed this year and this time its not even mine.” With a groan, the worried boy informed, "Gertie’s gonna’ kill me.”

With hope, Courtney shrugged. “Maybe she won’t notice?” And then Miles gave her a look. She was curious, but instead of asking what the first three phones went the way of, Courtney tried as best she could to comfort Miles, and apologize. "You can tell your mom, dad, and sister that it was my fault, because it really was, and don't worry," With a genuine tone, the responsible girl continued, "I promise I'll replace it and explain to your sister so you won‘t get into trouble."

Miles waved his hand as he cut her off, "No, it wasn't your fault, and you'll do no such thing." Then he admitted, "I shouldn't have been showing off, and I didn't think you'd be that quick." With regret, the boy added, "Or strong."

"Well I do run track, Miles." The girl said obviously. Miles shrugged as Courtney looked upwards when she said, "I'm really sorry I kicked you in the leg, I didn't mean to."

"I know you didn't, its okay," The boy said with a forgiving smile, but then admitted soberly as Courtney blushed, "Better there than somewhere else." Miles reasoned, "Besides, the phone took the shock of your kick, it must have been facing outwards so that‘s why it broke."

Courtney blushed, grateful the boy beside her didn't see it, and that he was able to move in time for her foot to glance off his thigh, instead bury directly in his crotch. "Just make sure the batteries aren't leaking, you don’t need a chemical burn on top of everything else."

"No worries about that." The boy comforted, "I checked, its okay." Grateful that he wouldn’t have to explain what happened until morning so his parents could protect him; Miles changed the unhappy subject, placing the broken phone into the pocket of his letter jacket. "I thought you were a runner, where in the world did you learn to flip around like you did at Kyo's, Girl?"

"When I was little, my mother and father shuffled me around to gymnastics, ballet, and dance." With a roll of her eyes, the girl explained. "Mom and dad thought it would help me get over my fear of heights, gain confidence, and 'socially activate' me.” She shrugged, “I guess I should just be glad that they didn’t dump me off in the classes to get rid of me for a few hours like some of the other kids’ parents did." Courtney shook her head. "I would have just as soon have stayed in my room, gone to museums, or the library to read." The girl announced dryly, "All going to those worthless dance and ballet classes accomplished was to throw me into a den of snooty, poor little rich girls who thought they were better than everyone else."

Miles was surprised at the description Courtney gave her contemporaries as she added in a bitter tone, "I stank horribly at the ballet by the way, and Miss Joyce didn’t like me anyway, because when I went to her class the first time I said her floors were filthy." Miles burst out into loud laughter, and as she shook her head, Courtney joined in. "They really were, it's not like it was a lie, but five year olds aren't exactly well versed in tact and I didn‘t know better than to tell the truth." Courtney declared, "I don't think that woman swept her floors since the seventies," She ended incredulously as she and Miles laughed, "Every time someone moved, breeze sent dust tumbleweeds rolling across the floor and everybody started sneezing."

As the girl settled, she further admitted, "Dad was kind of disappointed I didn't take to the ballet, since he loved it so much as a boy," Miles caught himself before he made a face or said something breathtakingly stupid about that. "I could stand the ballet a whole lot better than I could the dancing!” Courtney rolled her eyes, "Let me tell you, I absolutely and totally hated the dance classes with a passion!" The girl shook her head. "Mom couldn't bribe or pay me into liking them, so most of the time she had to literally drag me to those, but I was okay at them I guess."

Courtney admitted with a funny voice, "I can foxtrot, rumba, salsa, and shuffle with the best of them despite my best efforts of trying not to learn anything." Miles gave her a strange look as she finished, "As for the gymnastics, I really liked tumbling, parallel bars, and messing around on the trampoline so mom and dad let me focus on that."

Courtney said with a bitter snap in her tone, "There was a rather snooty element in that field too, don't be mistaken, but in retrospect I'm glad I was exposed to that, because being around other Courtneys at an early age taught me how not to act and treat people." She added carefully in allowance for her behavior that day, "I guess that for the most part, it really did do me a terrific amount of good to go to those classes, if for nothing but that." Miles gave Courtney a funny look; wanting to get the focus off of her, with a sideways smile, thinking of what her mother Rhonda told her, Courtney asked with selfish interest, "Can you dance, Miles?"

The boy thought, "Well, I can some. I'm no Fred Astaire, but my mom taught me a few moves." With a funny grin, Miles admitted, "She said that girls like guys who can dance." Then Miles kind of laughed, "My dad said that I'd find my soul mate in some weird way, most likely by falling down, or into something, or dancing," Courtney did a double take at the unsolicited reference to dancing in accordance with mate finding as Miles shrugged. "It's kind of the lot of Shortman men to find the women they’ll marry someday in a weird way. For example, my great grandparents fell in love on the Circle Theatre dance floor listening to,"

Courtney had the funniest look on her face, as she whispered with recognition, "Dino Spumoni."

Miles' eyes widened, and he sort of laughed as he asked not quite believing, "How did you know?"

The girl with a funny feeling shrugged, "Dino was a popular local entertainer here, he got his start playing the Circle, and it was the biggest dance hall in Hillwood at one time." She added quietly rather unsure of herself, "I just assumed."

"Oh." Miles continued, "My grandfather," The boy explained moving his hands to accentuate the point, "My dad's dad, Miles, tumbled right off of the side of a mountain almost into my grandmother Stella's lap," He made a corny joke, "Literally falling for her." Miles grinned, "His journal said that he met the girl he was going to marry the day he wrote in it that he fell, and he really did marry her later on."

Courtney laughed, "That is sort of weird, and I suppose it was meant to be."

"Yeah," Miles said truthfully, "I guess so."

"What about your mom and dad, Miles?" Courtney asked, more than just a little curious.

He finished, shaking his head, "My dad said that when he was nine years old, mom and he danced the tango at the first YMAA April Fool's Day dance. My mom played some kind of a prank on him pretending to be blind after he pulled a prank on her, and then dad found out she was faking it. After the dance ended, he spun her right into the pool." Miles scratched his head. "Then everyone else there jumped into the pool too."

Courtney smiled, "I always wondered how that tradition got started."

The boy looked upwards, "My dad didn't like mom so much when they were kids," Miles backtracked, "Well, that's not quite so, dad did like my mom, but he didn't understand her like he does now."

The wise girl smiled, able to fill in copious holes in the information that her father had given her that afternoon. 'Like mother,' the curious girl thought, then asked, "Your mom left Hillwood City for a long time though, didn't she?" Miles nodded as Courtney asked, "How did your mother and your father meet and fall in love if they didn't when they were kids then?"

Miles shook his head, "My mom moved back here from South Dakota to go to State to start her Masters degree because her mentor Doctor Bliss was part of the Psychology department. While she was going to school, mom re-connected with everyone she knew here as a kid, my dad included."

"Oh." Courtney said with recognition.

"A while after that they became really good friends." Miles grinned, "One night, after dad and his girlfriend had broken up again," Courtney's eyebrow rose as Miles continued, "he was in a funk about it, so my aunt Phoebe and Uncle Gerald dragged him to a Mexican restaurant to get his mind off her."

Miles laughed, "Without dad or mom knowing they'd both be there at the same time, Phoebe and Gerald arranged for my mother to meet them there too. After dinner, everyone started dancing, and my dad," Miles raised his hands and made quotation marks with his fingers, "couldn't find another partner to dance with him, so he just yanked my mom up from the table." Miles added cautiously, "Mom said she didn't want to dance that night, but my father made her dance with him anyway."

Courtney smirked, "Your mother doesn't strike me as the type of person who allows anyone to make her do anything she doesn't want to."

Miles chuckled with a wide grin and announced like a young gossiping teenaged valley girl, "I know!" Miles shrugged. "I think mom was already in love with my dad by the time that happened, but she didn't want to admit that she was and pretended she wasn't." Miles forwarded, "Their relationship has always been odd anyway. When she returned, she pretty much picked up where she left off and took up her old role as my father's main source of annoyance, but in a much more benign way, but she was also like his best friend too." The boy wisely theorized, "I think that's why she acted like that and pushed dad's buttons to irritate him, so it would hide how she really felt about him." Miles asked Courtney innocently, "Isn't that weird?"

Courtney stared ahead of herself and announced dryly, "Oh, yeah. I never heard of such in my life." Then she looked at the boy in her peripheral vision to see if she got a reaction.

Miles, not even putting together in his own mind that he had done exactly the same thing continued, "Yeah, I know. “ Courtney had the strangest look on her face as he added, “Dad said that he fell completely in love with my mom while dancing salsa to the song Cuba that night." Miles gave Courtney a wary look, "I don't believe him though, because I think Arnold Shortman fell for Helga Geraldine Pataki waaaaay before that, so don't hold him to it."

The girl put her finger on her chin, and then pointed towards Miles. "Y’know, I can see them falling in love to disco." Then the brunette smiled and said in a heartfelt manner, "Your mom and dad are so nice. When I went to your house tonight to ask to talk to you, your mom and dad gave me a Yahoo and your cellular number to call." She shrugged. “After I left there, I meant to stop at your work and maybe talk to you, but I was running late, and I almost didn't make it back to my own job in time."

Miles blurted out without thought, "So that's why you were out on Gilmore." The boy cringed as the light of recognition glinted in Courtney's eyes, and then watched in horror as almost every one of Courtney's white teeth lit up the darkness.

"Were you by any chance the young man," Courtney tactfully chose her word well, because it looked the farthest thing from, "dancing around in the guise of poultry in front of Mr. Chicken's House of Pancakes and Halibut?" With Miles’ admission of guilt by body language, the girl smiled even wider and gathered that indeed he was the person she shared a split second of eye contact with, and yes; had even pitied.

At the moment, she could have burst out into laughter, or pinched his cheek because the look on his poor swollen face was so darn cute, but laughing would have been rude; and Miles' skin was terribly bruised. Unable to resist, Courtney did allow herself to say, "You've got some skills there, Shortman."

Miles looked at the girl and with a groan; he slapped his forehead hard with his hand at his stupidity. In ecstasy of the evening, Miles forgot that his head was swollen and hurt, and he cursed through gritted teeth. The words weren't really discernible to the ear, but the boy sheepishly apologized anyway, "I'm sorry, Courtney."

Courtney shook her head and said, "Hey, I've heard worse today, and it came out of my mouth, so don't worry about it."

Miles was curious, "So, how did your mother and father meet and fall in love with each other?"

Even though it was dark, the boy could see the girl's face turn pale. He resisted the urge to hit himself on the head again, but God he was so stupid for mentioning her mother who had recently passed away, why did he do that? Miles rubbed the back of his neck abashedly and sought to make amends. "I-I'm so sorry, Courtney, I didn't mean to," Then he furtively asked, "Forgive me for being so inconsiderate." Then the boy sighed at himself, because that was all he had ever been towards her.

What was one more faux pas?

As the boy beat himself up internally, the girl held up her hand, and quickly went on a tangent, "No, no, no, it's not that you asked, it's quite nice that you did," The girl thought quickly, "I am just more interested in you, and your family, I already know all about mine!" Courtney said with a playfully diverting lilt.

Miles said wisely, and truthfully, "Well, I'd still like to hear your stories," With a charming smile he admitted while looking away abashedly, "I think that you're interesting." The boy then turned his beseeching blue eyes towards her again.

Unable to resist him, and for the benefit of the still obviously worrying boy, she continued with a smile. "Well," She started off cautiously, "When they were kids, my dad used to pester mom to death.” She raised her hand and a tugged a small leaf dangling from a branch they walked under. “I think his courting style was right next door to stalking, actually.” Miles blushed and suddenly found the starry night extremely interesting as Courtney continued. “He would follow her around everywhere, ask her to be his boyfriend and do all kinds of odd things to try to impress her." She looked upwards, "I don't believe it, but it’s been rumored that he actually bit the head off of a chicken in the attempt of such once." Courtney laughed at Miles' expression, appreciating the fact he didn't say anything questioning her father's sanity as anyone else might have.

Miles dismissed the rumor, waving his hands away from himself, "I don't believe it either. Chicken necks are really tough, even after you cook them, and I don't see how anyone could even begin to get their teeth through a raw one." He should have shut up then, but that not being his strongest suit, he ended with, "Well unless you gripped with both your hands and made a tearing motion with your canines like a dog or something."

As his voice trailed off, Courtney gave Miles the strangest look he had ever been honored to have been given in his whole life, "It sounds like you’ve had some experience."

Miles chuckled then waved his hand, "Not with a chicken head, but a duck neck that still had a head on it." As Courtney's facial features twisted a little more in confusion, Miles thought it might be beneficial to explain, "It was a whole Peking duck; it wasn't alive or anything like that."

Miles wondered if he should have kept that piece of information to himself, but Courtney gracefully pretended he hadn't said anything about biting the head off the neck of any creature, food item or not. "Anyway, mom said that she spent pre-school through senior year in high school ignoring my dad and that later in life mom said that she wished that she had spent every moment she possibly could have with him."

The girl warmly sighed at the details of her parents' charming, yet extremely quirky courtship, finding it extremely romantic despite the fact that it was just really weird. "It wasn't until the summer break before her junior year in college that my mom re-discovered her old boyfriend." Courtney shrugged, "Eventually, they got so involved with each other that neither one of them could bear to be away from one another so much. It was costing them a fortune to visit each other out of state too, so mom just transferred all of her course credits from Princeton to State; and attended classes here after switching her major. The last semester of junior year mom moved into dad's apartment with him, but they waited to get married until after they graduated."

Miles asked, "When did they get married?"

"The day after graduation, actually." Courtney giggled at Miles' expression, "Dad said mom was checking her watch while the dean was giving the last speech and kept saying, ''You still need a tux!' "Miles shook his head with a smile, and the girl tactfully re-directed the focus back to Miles. “So you're named after your grandfather, you said?"

"Yes, he was an archaeologist, as well as a doctor, and my grandmother Stella was a doctor too. They met each other in Central America while working on independent humanitarian work projects."

Courtney wondered since she had never met them, or seen them as a child, "Where are they living now?"

"Nobody knows." Not even noticing Courtney’s concerned stare, Miles looked up at the night sky and tried to pick out the only constellation he knew, but with little success, gathering that Orion had packed it in for the night, or that he was just inept. "One day, when my dad was a year and a half old or so, my grandparents' old friend Eduardo came to them to get help for a tribe of people living in the jungles of San Lorenzo." Miles decided that he should spare certain details as he shook his head. "My grandparents didn't want to leave my dad, but Miles and Stella were really devoted to the people, so they both flew to help them.”

Courtney wondered, “What was so wrong that they needed your grandparents’ help?”

Miles shrugged, “They were dying from some sort of sleeping sickness but something happened to my grandparents in transit, and they were never seen again."

Miles didn't look at the girl he was walking beside in the eye when he shrugged, feeling pain for his orphaned father, as he finished the heartbreaking story. "Search parties were sent out the first couple of weeks they were missing, but were soon ended because of the risk to rescue crews, cost, and chances of success. My grandparents begged the government down there to continue searching, but an already financially stressed country couldn't just keep spending money to look for two people who were probably already beyond help." Miles reasoned, "My dad has never really come out and said it, but he’s always felt some resentment towards the government, but I can understand their point of view too, I mean it's harsh and heartbreaking, but it is reality too." Courtney nodded solemnly as Miles finished. "My great grandparents funded several private searches, but no trace of my father's parents were ever found." Miles didn't mention that the endeavor left his great grandparents nearly bankrupt. "It's like my dad's parents just fell off the face of the earth or something.” Dejectedly Miles ended, “They lost everything for nothing."

Miles felt fortunate for having never had to live his father's partially sad existence, and suddenly, he felt so ashamed and spoiled, because he realized that he was not as grateful for the life full of benefits he had enjoyed as he felt he should be. "Dad has always told me and my sister that my grandparents were okay, not to be sad, and that wherever they were they were together and happy." With a smile at his father's boundless optimism, Miles shrugged and admitted, "Sometimes I think dad just says that because he doesn't want to think of them as dead, but living in heaven, or something like that."

It was childlike, Mr. Shortman’s take on what was the obvious death of his parents, but she thought it was beautifully hopeful too. "I'm sorry that happened to them." Courtney admitted as she felt one tear tickle its way down her cheek for the sake of the sweet man who had shown great generosity and forgiveness towards her that evening. Miles and Courtney looked at each other, then quickly away when they both found their hands joined during the telling of Stella, and the elder Miles' tale.

Courtney cleared her throat and released the tension she had placed on the boy's hand. "Your grandparents’ loss wasn't in vain, Miles, they were doing something good to help those poor sick people. Such a sacrifice, if done in the right spirit, is never a waste, even if it doesn't work out." She shrugged, “At least they tried, I mean, that’s more than some people would ever do.” Miles was speechless at Courtney's lovely words. "Your great grandmother and father must have been extremely strong and selfless to have raised your father at the age they were, and help him live with the sadness of growing up without his parents." Courtney looked down, "Especially with the fact that they never knew what happened to them."

"My father said that never knowing was the worst part of it all, but despite it all at least he still had a wonderful childhood because of my great grandparents.” Brightly he related, “Actually, my sister is named after my great grandmother, Gertrude, and from what I've heard; ’Gert’s gotten a lot of her wildness from her.” With a smile Miles asked, “Did you know that the house we live in now was once run by my great grandparents as a boarding house?”

Courtney laughed, “No, I didn’t, I always thought it was strange where your house is located, but now it makes sense since it was once a business what with the zoning area it’s in and all.”

Miles nodded. “They called it The Sunset Arms, and dad tells us about all the boarders that once lived there and all the funny stories about his and mom's childhood adventures they had there all the time." Miles beamed at Courtney, "Actually, your mom and dad are referred to a lot in the stories."

As the couple approached her Corvette, Courtney got out her keys, and said genuinely, "I'd really like to hear those sometime."

Courtney's empty stomach rumbled loudly and she clenched her teeth together in embarrassment as she held it. She turned to the boy walking beside her, grateful that the darkness hid her blush, "Sorry about that. I didn’t eat much at the barbecue, I'm kind of hungry."

Miles scoffed, "That's nothing to be ashamed about, or apologize for at all," The boy rubbed his own stomach as well, he wasn't quite hungry, but he could certainly eat again. "That's the first barbecue I've ever left not full from in my entire life!" He shook his head in near disbelief, "Peyton, Orrell, and Johnson eat more meat in one sitting than a pride of lions ever thought about putting away in a week."

Courtney nodded, and with wide eyes witnessed, "One time, I watched Orrell Johannsen eat a twelve piece bucket of extra crispy chicken and drink a pint of brown gravy before a debate once." She looked to the side. "It was kind of intimidating, actually."

Miles looked up, "That was a snack for him, although I've never seen him drink gravy before." Then the boy grinned, and said jokingly with a funny accent as he waved his hand downward, "I just don't know how that boy keeps his figure."

As Courtney laughed, Miles plucked up his nerve and asked while trying to not sound pathetically desperate, "When we get the car started," Miles paused and looked up at the sky through tree branches as he rubbed the back of his neck, "would you like to go get something to eat with me?" When the girl gave him a strange look, he felt obligated to add, "If you don't want to, you don't have to. I understand if you don't, it’s okay if you don’t you know."

Miles looked at the girl incredulously as she answered, "Like you had to ask!" Miles felt his heart plunge, but raised his eyebrows when she exclaimed, "Of course I'd like to go eat with you." She raised her index finger and smiled. "My treat of course."

Before Miles could disagree, Courtney unlocked her door, got in, and turned on the ignition so she could roll down the windows, then turned it off again. The adept girl then stretched across the parking brake, pushed up on the passenger side door lock button, as she pulled the manual door lock knob forward.

As she did, Miles asked, "What in the world are you doing? Can I help you?"

Courtney looked up, her fingers smarting from the difficulty of pulling the stubborn knob. "No, it'll go faster if I do it, this car has a ton of boogabears and you have to know what to do to finagle around them." Then she joked, "I know this looks kind of weird." The funny girl shook her head as she strained to keep her torso elevated without the aid of her arms. "Okay, it is weird, but I'm doing this because the actuator is shot and it won't push the door lock knob out without help, and it's hard to do manually."

With a groan, Courtney added, "I really need to crack the door open, check the power supply with a voltmeter, and replace everything inside but I haven't gotten the courage to try it yet." Miles reached down inside and pulled the lock knob himself, and with a little force it finally slid to the unlocked position.

"Thanks!" Courtney said gratefully as she slid up in the driver's side bucket seat and pulled her legs inside the car so that her feet could rest on the stripped out floorboard.

Miles attempted to open the passenger side door, but the push in handle limply flexed downwards because it was broken too. "Yeah, I need to fix that too." Then the grinning girl pulled the opening lever from the inside so that Miles could get in.

As the boy opened the door and he looked inside the car, all of the upholstery except for what covered the doors and seats was gone. The wires that dangled from the dash looked like multi colored Spanish moss hanging from underneath the glove box; a hopelessly tangled mess save for the bands intermittently placed along the lengths of loosely bundled wires. "You're doing your own wiring too?" Miles asked with both surprise and awe.

Courtney made excuses as Miles was bent over, fingering the mass, "I know that those wires are a terrible looking tangle, but despite appearances, everything is in order.” She was quick to mention, “Also, don't worry, nothing is naked so you won't get shocked." She waved her hands across the wires and added with controlled disappointment. "All of that mess is temporary anyway; my harnesses and other fasteners haven't come in with the rest of my order from the parts catalogue yet."

"I'm just impressed that you're doing all this stuff yourself. I'd be curled in a fetal position weeping if I tried to do it." Miles pointed at the thin twisted bands that were tied around the wires, "If those aren't your harnesses, what are those?"

Courtney looked upwards in embarrassment. "Twist ties from loaves of bread."

The boy shrugged. "Hey, whatever works." Then Miles said brightly with a wink, "They look good and they're your favorite color too."

Courtney blushed at the flirtation and the memory of the contents of his letter that she read earlier in the evening. "Magic time, Miles." The clever girl flirted back as she popped up out of the car, bent down, pushed a square silver button in the back rest of the driver's side bucket seat, and pulled it forward to rest on the cracked, light beige steering wheel. After repeating the process on the other side, she pulled the black vinyl deck covering up and forward by it's grained black plastic handle, then allowed it to roll back into its protective housing.

"Magic time?" The questioning boy asked quizzically.

Courtney grinned, "Yeah, that's what I call taking the T-tops off, it transforms the car into a completely different creature." She added with a lilt, "Kinda' like magic!"

"I'll have to tell that one to mom." Miles said with a laugh, "Believe me, she'll both love and steal it from you." While Courtney laughed, Miles looked down through the fastback glass and saw the closed shoebox that he assumed was still filled with all of the things that he had given her that day. He didn't see the soul bearing letter he typed out to her, but he assumed it was in the box too. Courtney stuck her fingers under the lid of it; fished around inside the box, and pulled out a bag of the gummy candies he bought for her and then put them in her pocket.

The adept girl then picked up the box sitting it to the side, and pulled one thin green, dirty foam pad forward to rest on the backs of the seats, leaving the second lying on the rear deck. With a flick of her nimble fingers, Courtney pulled the lever to disconnect the driver's side T-top. With the speed a pit crew member would be envious of, the girl had the half of the car's roof off, placed in back, and covered with the foam sheet ready for the next. "Your turn, Miles."

He was reticent as he held out his hands, and admitted, "I shouldn't, I might hurt something."

Courtney shook her head as she tapped the other T-Top roof half. "You can't hurt this thing, and you don't even have to worry about scratching the primer either because its all going to be media blasted off, and re-done with epoxy primer before its to be painted anyway, so go on ahead."

Miles still hesitated, so Courtney walked around the back of her misbehaving vehicle. "Here, I'll help you."

Miles smiled at Courtney as she took his hand and placed his fingers on the black rubber coated handle of the top. After enjoying the physical contact with the girl, Miles finally admitted, "I know how to do it, I've done it hundreds of times before, I just don't want to damage your car." The boy looked up and half joked, "I know how women can be about their vehicles sometimes."

Courtney slapped her head, "I’m so dumb!" Courtney shook her head in embarrassment for making such a mistake, but before Miles could say anything about her harsh wording of her intelligence, Courtney added, "I can't believe I forgot your mom has the same model as this one! You even drove it to town this afternoon and I still forgot!" Then the girl questioned Miles' charge about his mother's sensitivity towards her sports car. "Surely your mother isn't that bad about people touching her car is she?"

Miles thought of other things as he studied the girl standing in front of him, and finished putting the T-Top half on his side in the back, "Are you kidding?" He asked incredulously, "Mom rides in the car with valets when they park it and she listens to Barry White while she's washing it."

Courtney mentioned offhandedly to herself, "I'm gonna’ have to try that someday."

The boy cocked a bushy black eyebrow at her, which made Courtney laugh. "It's kind of sick, really." Miles shook his head at the still laughing girl, "At least I know mom really loves me, because I'm the only other person in the house she trusts to wash, wax, and sometimes drive it."

Courtney quit laughing, "What about your dad and Gertie?"

"From what I've heard, my father has only driven that car once , and that was when they were in college and it was some kind of emergency, for the most part, my father wouldn't touch the steering wheel of that car if his life depended on it!" Courtney's wide open eyes met Miles' level ones. "As for Gertie, after mom caught her doing a three sixty burnout in the middle of the road in front of the house laughing like a maniac, that did it for her driving the car."

Courtney's eyes were wide, but she was impressed, "Wow! She must be good, there's not much room for that there, and Vine Street is really narrow to begin with."

Miles' own eyes widened, "Hey, it sounds epic to a second party, but I was in the car with her, while the car was doing it, and it scared the crap out of me!"

Courtney muttered in response, "Wuss." Then as she smiled at Miles' facial response, Courtney wondered with hope, "Do you think Gertie would teach me how to do it?"

The boy said cautiously, cutting the girl he loved half a look, "I'm sure she'd be overjoyed to teach you, just don't do it with me in there with you."

As Courtney imitated the clucking of a chicken, but stopped abruptly, "You wouldn't be in the car anyway, the Corvette is a roadster and you couldn't go with us." The girl shrugged, "Not unless we crammed you in the back."

Miles declared, "No, thanks! I'll just sit on the stoop and watch you two destroy your tires and differential if that's alright with you." Miles shook his head at Courtney as she stuck out her tongue at him and pulled the vinyl cover back over the stowage deck.

“Thanks for the help, Miles.” Courtney admitted with a naughty lilt, "It's just kind of nice to have an assistant who actually knows what he's doing, kind of like a riding mechanic in the old days of auto racing.”

Miles wondered, “Doesn’t your dad help you with your car work?”

“Daddy tries to help me all the time, but the less he touches anything mechanical is best because he could tear up an anvil with a toothpick!” Miles’ eyes widened at the statement as she continued. “The only kind of car he knows anything about is his kraut steamers, and that’s just him calling the car service to tow them to the shop for work." She got into the driver's seat, and put her key back into the ignition as Miles got into the car.

As he closed the door, and snapped in his safety belt, Miles asked, "What if the car doesn't start?" He mused, "We'll have to put all this stuff back on if not."

Courtney replied with a hopeful tone, “This car is a well made American classic, Miles, it’ll start." She patted dashboard roughly as if she were reassuring the vehicle like a skittish horse, "Won't you, Tracks?" Then the hopeful, but nervous girl muttered, "Please start." Under her breath as Miles chuckled at her. Courtney cut the boy a look as she turned the headlights on, turned the ignition switch and the warning lights lit with promise.

With a great degree of expectation, she didn‘t know the car she loved could deliver on her hopeful promise or not, Courtney pumped the gas pedal as the starter turned the engine over. After a few well-edited threats, a sound that was better than a favorite song or hearing that one had won the lottery jackpot broke the silence of the cockpit of the car, and the Corvette roared to life with a puff of blue smoke and a rough shiver.

"Yes!" Courtney happily exclaimed as she gunned the car, slapped the dashboard in approval, checked the gauges, and then beamed at Miles with great relief. "Thank goodness!" The enthusiastic girl slipped the car into neutral, and continued to gently tap the accelerator to keep the engine running. "If it's okay with you, we'll sit here for a few minutes, let the engine idle, burn off the excess fuel, and warm up."

Tickled to be with the girl at all, Miles shrugged and admitted quickly with his hands raised, "I don't have anywhere else to be."

Courtney reached behind Miles' seat and pulled out a raggedy zip up carrier with a bulge in it, and lightly placed it into his lap. She then handed him a long black case with raised lettering on it, then began to open the small bag of candy from her pocket.

"What's this?" The curious boy asked over the din of the engine, as heat slowly began to pour out from behind the firewall, steadily rising in temperature. If it were spring or summer, the heat would be unwelcome, but with the coolness of the night and after their long walk, it actually felt good.

Courtney handed Miles a long black clamshell case, and pointed at the naked compact disc player. "Faceplate for the player, pop it in." Then she patted Miles' shoulder and pointed to the large CD wallet. "Root around in there and see if there's anything you’d like to listen to."

Miles thought it was sort of funny that Courtney gave him a wink, but as he snapped the face plate into the receptacle, then opened the compact discs carrier, he asked, "May I use your phone, please? I have to check in with Gertie and let her know we're okay, because she'll kick my butt when I get home if I don't."

The smirking girl handed her cellular telephone to Miles. "I don't believe that it would be in my best interests to have Gertrude Shortman angry with me over the welfare of her twin brother either." Courtney nodded at the phone as the handsome boy gave her a strange look. "She just might kick my butt too."

Miles sighed. "After we’ve argued for a lifetime I'm just glad Gertie still gives a crap about me, but it's kind of sickening how hard she pulls the mom trip sometimes."

After she relinquished her cellular phone, Courtney opened a bag of the candy Miles bought her and as he dialed, she surgically picked through the bag, placing the selected pieces into the palm of her hand making an observation. "Your sister cares a whole lot more about you than a mere crap, Miles Shortman."

Before he could ask how she came to that conclusion, to Miles' surprise, the wickedly smiling girl dropped a small handful of sour gummy bugs into his waiting palm. He couldn't tell what color they were in the dark but instead of eating one at the time, the greedy boy shoved all of the candy into his mouth at once.

No real surprise, they were all the same flavor, orange.

"You must be hungry." Courtney teased.

As Miles listened for his sister to pick up, he desperately tried not to lose pieces of candy out of his hopelessly full mouth, or allow the drool threatening to trail from the corner of his lips fall down to his shirt. In the attempt to distract her, with a muffled voice Miles asked, "I got all the orange ones, does that mean I'm an ant now?" Despite his best efforts, he was forced to swipe the beginnings of a slobber trail from the corner of his swollen mouth as the citric acid and sugar in the candy stung his split lip.

Pretending she didn’t notice the boy's efforts, Courtney admitted shyly with a shrug, "I like ants. They're clever, industrious, and wear a chicken suit pretty nice."

The boy swallowed the entire mouthful of slightly chewed candy hard and gave Courtney an abashed grin while sporting a ferocious deep red blush.

Courtney stifled a laugh at the bits of gelatin candy stuck on his teeth, and the look on his face while she offered the bag of candy to Miles; he in turn reached in with his fingers and plucked out a blue piece. "I think you missed one, Miss Gammelthorpe." Miles held up the piece of candy for Courtney to see and politely held it out for her.

"No, Miles, you have it, you don't have to just eat the orange ones." She sweetly offered.

Miles replied while shaking his head, "This is your favorite color and flavor, so you should have it."

Thinking she'd take it from him with her fingers, he held out the candy pinched between his own to the side as he flipped through the compact disc carrier looking for music that he might be interesting to listen to. Soon enough, Miles felt pressure on his fingers but to his surprise it wasn‘t Courtney’s fingers, but her soft, warm lips.

As she handed the surprised boy the rest of the bag to finish, she said, "Thanks." The compact disc wallet she handed Miles was open on his lap, and even though she had offered the boy to choose some music might like, Courtney was sure that he would enjoy the CD she had in her fingers. After she pushed the disc into the player and punched the track number for the song she wanted to hear, the girl smiled at the boy wickedly.

As the heroic guitar solo of the beginning of the song Dare stretched the two rather puny speakers in the dash to their limits, Courtney shifted the car from park, reverse, neutral, and into drive, pulling away from the side of the road slowly, with a gigantic smile on her face.

And as she scrutinized the clueless boy in her peripheral vision, Courtney could only think that yes, she could.

* * *

Gertie's eyes were focused on the screen of the television; however, she wasn't watching the movie but instead mired in a world of her own, picking her immature actions that morning apart like a crusty scab from a wound that refused to heal.

Noticing Gertie was pre-occupied, Kyo traced his index finger along her soft chin, pulling her gaze to him, "I'm sure Miles and Courtney are fine, honestly, what kind of trouble could they possibly get into in twenty minutes?" After Gertie gave Kyo one of her famous looks, the boy corrected, "Well surely not bad trouble, even with Miles' help." Kyo grinned, "The Wonder Twins have already filled their quota for the week today."

Gertie sighed at Kyo's mention of the day's events and admitted with more than just a little disappointment in herself, "Well, you know we're both over achievers."

Before Kyo could ask what he suspected was wrong, Gertie's cellular phone rang with the Transformers theme again. The boy sighed in exasperation as she left him in favor of the call, hoping it was not some crisis someone couldn't hope to solve without Gertie's input.

"Hello?" Gertie smiled. "Hey, Shortman. I can barely hear you, what are you in? A tank? What? No, I was getting worried about you two." Gertie's eyes widened, "How in the world can you still be hungry, Miles? Because you ate four big honking ribs, a whole basket of rolls, that piece of chocolate cake that fell on the ground that Orell wouldn’t eat, and an assload of potato salad. You’re going to Fong Chung's, huh?" Gertie said wryly while thinking deviously, "With Courtney, you say?"

Forgetting her funk for the moment, the girl covered up the cellular phone receiver, and muttered to her boyfriend while trying desperately to stifle a laugh. "Watch this." Gertie removed her hand from the phone and said in an upbeat tone, "You know, Miles, Fong Chung's really isn't that far away."

Kyo, who was already having a hard time keeping a straight face to begin with, had to cover his mouth with his hand to keep from laughing out loud as Gertie suggested, "How about Kyo and me meeting you and Courtney there for some egg foo young?" With a naughty tone, the mischievous girl added, "We can keep you two company."

Kyo began to cackle as Gertie asked, "Miles?" Then she said with a wide grin, and a shrug, "We got disconnected somehow.” With a falsely disappointed tone, Gertie related, “I suppose they drove out of range."

Kyo snickered, and whispered into her ear, "Payback is sweet." With that the two dirty rotten scoundrels laughed for the longest time.

Only then did Gertie seriously question, “I wonder why he didn’t call me with my phone.”

With Miles‘ track record, Kyo offered a theory. “He’s probably already broken it and was afraid to tell you.”

She shook her head at the improbability of the event. “He better not have, all my favorite Legend of Korra and cat memes are on it.” As Kyo’s eyebrow twitched upwards, Gertie checked the time on Miles’ phone one last time, and declared with reticence, "I'm going to have to get home soon, 'K."

Kyo's head whipped towards the clock on the wall, and it said she could stay for an hour longer and still have more than enough time to get home. The boy took Gertie's hand and frowned a little, "You're not leaving right now, are you?"

"I didn't even think to ask if you had something else you wanted to do." Gertie said with worry, and then admitted, "I know I'm not being much fun."

"No, I don't have anything going on," With a smile he admitted, "Just hanging out with my girlfriend is all." Gertie sighed and gave the boy a look, and he volunteered, "If you need to leave, go, but as far as I'm concerned, you could spend the whole night here and I wouldn't mind."

Gertie's eyes widened, and Kyo flung up his hands, "That never entered my mind, 'Gert." It was a blatant lie, but at least it sounded good. "Where's your mind tonight, Shortman?"

Gertie gave the boy a funny look. "I just don't want to push my luck with mom and dad's patience by being late or something." Gertie had a downcast look on her face and admitted with shame, "They were extremely lenient on us today seeing as we didn't even deserve it."

Kyo scoffed, "I knew it!"

"What?" Gertie asked.

"That you’re still worried about what happened this morning!" Gertie gave Kyo an incredulous look as he said, "Frankly, I think you two should have gotten a medal instead of suspended."

Gertie shook her head, "No, what we did was wrong, 'K, no matter the motivation or circumstances. No one has the right to hurt someone else."

Kyo pronounced odd determination, "That's right, no one does. It would be completely different if what you and Miles did was with no provocation, but if anyone should be ashamed about what happened, it should be Tim, James and Todd for instigating the entire event themselves!"

Gertie shook her head, hating to admit, "Well, Miles and me really did start it."

Kyo shook his head, "No, James did when he tripped and hurt Courtney." He added with frustration, "Miles was the one who should have finished business with those three, but that's something entirely different." Gertie was going to say something to counter Kyo, but he didn't give her the chance, "As far as you're concerned, Gertie Shortman, you saved Miles from getting his butt kicked badly." Kyo scoffed, "I know Tim, Todd and James don’t give a damn about what they’ve done," Gertie's head snapped upwards at the rare usage of a curse word by the soft spoken boy, "so neither should you."

"I should have acted better than them though; I just dragged myself down to their level." Gertie quietly admitted.

Kyo gently brushed her cheek and was going to further assuage her guilt, but before he got the chance to, Gertie sighed, and finally admitted the real reason why she was so upset with the entire ordeal.

Hating the hypocrite she made of herself Gertie exclaimed, "I shouldn't have allowed myself get carried away like I did this morning, but I lost control like I always do!" She looked away and added, "I really did want to help Miles and Courtney, honestly, but I swear every time they got up the more I wanted to hurt those boys," Gertie said coldly, "Especially Tim."

Seeing the beginning of a tear forming in Gertie's eye, Kyo put his hand on her shoulder in the effort of comforting her. "I wanted revenge for what Tim did to me." Ashamed of the truth, the girl grudgingly admitted, "I enjoyed being in a position to hurt him. I wanted to hurt him like he hurt me." With a grateful tone, Gertie admitted, "If it hadn't been for you, I could have done something terrible that couldn't be fixed." With frustration, concern, and shame, Gertie ended, "What kind of person does that really make me, 'K, to have feelings like that?"

Kyo gathered Gertie into his arms and she hugged him close, the understanding boy stroked her shoulders. "Human?"

With a deep sigh, Gertie wondered, “How can I show my face at school after acting like that though?” Feeling like a complete hypocrite, she flung up her arm and reasoned, “When people ask me about how to deal with arguments, I always tell them to find better ways of resolving conflicts rather than fighting.” She flung out her arm demonstratively. “Then I go and completely lose my credibility by acting like a bouncer kicking drunks out of a titty bar.”

His laughter wasn’t helping, but after Kyo settled down he tried to think of the best way to put what he was thinking into words.

Clearing his throat, Kyo shared the wisdom of an old soul. “Look, ‘Gert, this whole situation that happened at school today is kind of like the time mom accidentally broke wind during her yoga class.”

For the second time that day, Gertie favored a well-meaning man she loved dearly with a wary look.

Kyo held up his index finger as he expounded. “Mom was so embarrassed over it that she quit going to class because she was afraid everyone would just see her as that lady who farted when they saw her walk in the front door, but as it turned out, they didn’t care.” Kyo shrugged, “Well, maybe the lady directly in behind her cared,” Gertie’s eyebrow cocked upwards as the thoughtful boy continued, “but when mom didn’t go back to her classes for a whole week, everybody missed her so much that they came here to the house and convinced her to return, even that nice old lady she pooted on, so everything turned out okay in the end.”

“No pun intended?” Gertie wondered as Kyo laughed, and at last she worked up the courage to ask the question that worried her the most. “Do you think I’m a bad person for what I did, Kyo?”

Gertie was looking downwards, so Kyo lifted her chin so that their eyes would meet. "Look, I know you've been worried about this and what people might think of you now all day." The thoughtful boy rolled his eyes upwards. "I don't know what is going through that hard head of yours, but I can tell you that anyone who knows you, which is almost everybody in Hillwood City, thinks you're the best thing on two legs and loves you to death!" Kyo gently brushed away the tear that a final frustrated sigh allowed to roll down Gertie's cheek. The caring boy then placed his palms on Gertie's cheeks and drew her full attention to him. "Having a fan base is great and all, but I think you need to be more focused on what you think of yourself more than what others do."

Gertie sighed and leaned her head back down on Kyo's shoulder. "You didn't answer me, 'K."

Kyo kind of smirked, "I don't think I should answer that question because I'm much too biased to be impartial."

Gertie cast him a strange look, "How so?"

The boy shrugged, "In this case you were completely justified in what you did, but I also love you, so everything you do I'm going to find at least a little adorable and take your side every time."

"Me beating the crap out of some of the football team was adorable?" Gertie asked incredulously.

"No." Kyo admitted with a raised index finger, and sly tone to his voice. "That was freakin’ hot."

Gertie’s eyes widened and she was sporting the reddest, most deep red blush he ever would have thought she could produce. He knew it was going to be expensive, but it was worth it, however the gentle push he received on his shoulder wasn't near as hard as he thought it would be. In the aftermath of such lenient punishment, Kyo admitted, "See? You're already going soft on me, Shortman." As he laughed, Kyo teased, "Any other time I'd need an amputation."

Gertie blurted out, "Oh! Watch the movie!" Then she pulled her legs back onto the couch, placed her head back on his shoulder, and then laced her fingers in his. After a few moments, Gertie smiled, and added, "I love you too, 'K."

As they turned their attention to the television again, Kyo was glad to see she was in a better mood and he mentioned offhandedly, "When your mom and dad let me in the house today, your mom called your dad Football Head."

Gertie rolled her eyes with a growl, "Again? I swear to God it looks like to me she would have had her fill of that by now. With a scoff, the girl added, "She's been giving my dad crap since she was three!"

Kyo scoffed, "Surely she's not called him that for that long has she?"

Gertie looked at Kyo incredulously, "Yes she has!"

Then the girl gave a more recent example, "When I was little, I was confused, and I thought that daddy's real name was 'Football Head'." Kyo laughed as Gertie cut him an electric green eyed look. "Then I didn't know why people called my father Arnold out in the neighborhood, instead of Football, and I couldn't understand why my last name wasn't Head instead of Shortman too."

As Kyo rubbed her shoulders, Gertie confided, "Miles told me it was because I was adopted, and it used to make me cry." Kyo burst out into loud wicked laughter; Gertie elbowed the boy in the ribs, and as Kyo rubbed them to lessen the pain. "Miles can be a real asshole when he wants to be."

The clever boy put his arms around Gertie, and kissed her cheek. "Yeah, I know, but he's our asshole."

"This is true." Gertie truthfully admitted as she twisted her fingers around the necklace that Kyo was wearing around his neck. It was a fascinating piece, and even though she didn't mean to keep fingering it, she couldn't keep her hands off of it either. The bottom of the pendant looked like a blunted anchor, and was decorated with knots; and small round circles. The top tapered upwards and at the end was a stylized gargoyle head with horns running down the sides twisting over the top of the pendant to make an X shape. Through the mouth of the gargoyle ran a well polished brass ring, which held two vertically slit ends of a long black leather thong. "What did you say this was again, 'K?"

"It's the representation of Thor's hammer, Mjöllnir." With pride Kyo added, "I bought it in honor of my mother's Scandinavian roots."

The boy thought for a moment, then removed the necklace and turned it over, "You know my grandparent's house?"

Gertie answered, "Yes, but I haven't been there in awhile, though."

As Kyo fingered the smooth well polished back that he had taken of all things, an ice pick, and carved the soft pewter with. "Do you recognize this symbol?" The boy asked with a smile on his lips as they looked at the Y shape with and extra line going through the top of it vertically.

The girl answered with interest, "Gigantic, purple, and hanging over the front entrance to their house? You can‘t miss it."

"Well," The intelligent boy continued, "This is an elder Futhark rune called elhaz, Vikings would carve this symbol into the eaves of their doorways, weapons, and ships to protect, and keep them whole. They would also wear jewelry with this rune carved onto it to protect their person as well."

Kyo dropped the deceptively heavy for its size necklace into Gertie's hand and allowed her to examine it, "It's extremely beautiful, 'K." The girl said with respect as she handed it back to him.

With the imagery of wild blonde demigoddesses in Valhalla setting a long table filled with succulent meats and horns filled with frothy mead for Odin's einherjar, without another thought Kyo held up the necklace, opened the slender leather thong with the back of the pendant facing Gertie, and placed it around the questioning girl's neck.

As Kyo tied the crooked section of leather into its familiar knot, Gertie asked, "What are you doing?"

"There, it looks terrific on you," The boy admitted, and then announced, "and it's yours now."

Gertie was confused. "Kyo, you love this necklace! I can‘t take this!"

Kyo laughed, "Yes you can." Kyo then added with a yet another kiss on her cheek, "You need protection from the Gods more than I do, Valkyrie."

Gertie took the pendant in her hand, looked at it, and then turned her attention to the boy once again, "I was raised protestant."

He knew he shouldn't, but the boy declared, "After today, you need all the help you can get, Shortman."

After Gertie was done glaring at Kyo and he was finished laughing at her for doing such, the two shifted positions so they'd be more comfortable curled together and resumed holding each other tightly. As Gertie rubbed the shiny metal pendant with her fingers, loving the boy and the piece of jewelry more by the moment, she said gratefully, "Thanks, 'K, I'll treasure it always."

In between more loving gazes and sweet kisses, time; and curfews were easily forgotten.

* * *

It was four days before Christmas, but he could still feel it, almost like an early gift as he tried to tap on the back of the chair he was bound to with something that was no longer there.

He cried out in horrible pain and fear as one of his ugly kidnappers sawed his finger off with a dull knife, its purpose serving as proof that he was in the possession of evil men but instead of showing either any pity or decency, his friends joined in laughing at him too.

A few days later the man who cut his finger off facetiously asked the boy if he were feeling better, and then called him llorona, a crybaby. The ignorant bastard didn't even use the masculine form of the word, but the feminine; evidentially in the attempt to sting him more. He cut the man an ugly look, and asked to slice off his finger, asking him if he thought he could keep from crying.

The boy's bravery, or foolishness however you take it, was rewarded with the back of a dirty rough hand across his face so hard his chair tipped over, throwing him to the floor and making his nose bleed.

His father screamed at his son's attacker, and in turn, he received another merciless beating as well, only because he was trying to protect his only child from more suffering.

Later in the day, one of his abductors had for some errant reason took some small pity on them, sneaked into the tent they were being held captive in and swiped petroleum jelly on the stumps of their fingers to keep flies from lighting on them and laying their eggs.

The kinder man went a step further for him and wrapped a filthy brown rag that had once been white around the black oozing stump where his little finger had been. When he did it, he smiled, and called him M'hijo, trying to comfort him. He was forbidden to do so, but over their long days of their captivity, the man also slipped them water and a bit of bread with some meat, or a pinch of marzipan apiece to eat when he could get away with it.

It didn't satisfy his or his father's thirst or hunger fully, but better than nothing, it helped. His father always thanked the man for the small kindnesses he showed them in the midst of their living hell, but the boy didn’t understand why he didn’t help them escape, or at least untie them and let them try to make it away on their own. He couldn't imagine how a man who possessed a smile like that and could be so much more human than the others, could continue aiding their captors imprison them, and through such facilitate their torture, so the young boy was forced to hate him too.

Once, when his cruel compatriots were too drunk to wave loaded guns in his face or too busy to keep company with local prostitutes, one of the laughing men said that he wished that they caught his mother too. Sparing no detail, he compared her beauty to that of other women he had paid to sleep with and said if she were there, they could save some money if she were there to entertain them all. Too young to understand what he meant then, now the crude statement made him boil with even more anger, if such a thing were possible.

During their days of imprisonment as they were shuffled from different hiding places, sometimes more than once in a single night, both Peapod and his son learned that they never caught Nadine, so both had hope and comfort. Knowing that Nadine not only escaped the attack, but also knew the jungle better than the city they lived in, Peapod told him that someone must be searching for them as much as they had been moved, and not to despair, because in no time all of this would soon be over, and they'd all be together again.

A number of days went by, the boy didn't know how many, and the leader came into the small room they were being held in, it was a comfort in comparison to some of the swampy, open places they had been. In his cruel native tongue their chief tormentor spat through his black teeth and calmly announced as he pulled his father's face up by his ears, forcing him to look in his eyes, "They feel as if we are bluffing, my friend, and refuse to pay your ransom." With a mean spirited grin, the man added, "Too bad for you, rich boy, because your time has run out."

In the blink of an eye he saw the beautiful silver object pulled from the front of his abductor's pants reflect bright while light, a shining star in otherwise dark brown, squalid conditions. The cruel man pulled his father down onto the filthy floor in front of him, kicked him to his knees, and pulled his head up by his own hair, forcing the man to look up at his terrified son like a perverted crucifix.

He looked into his father's frightened brown eyes, and Peapod was going to say something, the boy gathered, to comfort him; but with the pull of a trigger he never got the chance.

Something wet sprayed onto the boy’s face, the taste of iron, salt, and something soft coated his tongue, but he didn't spit it out, natural reflex compelled him to swallow.

The mercenary laughed coldly and offered as he shook his head by the hair, "Open your eyes, Boy, and see the Christmas gift La Sombra has given you."

He refused to look, so two men with filthy fingers stepped behind him and forced his eyes open. When he looked down, he saw that his father was on the floor shuddering reflexively; a pool of blood, and bits of something was there too, spreading out from under his father's slightly moving neck and head, oozing towards the soles of his dirty sneakers.

He looked down at his clothing, and it was on him too, a thin coating of something so surreal it couldn't possibly be blood could it?

The fact that he had a bleeding hole of his own in his chest didn't even register, nor did the pain, the only concern he had being his father and why he didn‘t move anymore.

Was his father dead?

He wasn't dead was he?

He couldn't be dead, but yes, he was.

He was dead.

His father was dead.

Oh, God, his father was dead, and the chunks of warm wet stuff on him was….

Sticky hot blood seeped into his clothing, flesh dripped down his face over his lips as he screamed!

He screamed bloody murder, but no one cared or heard!

Not even God as he swallowed something that tasted of iron and pieces of something soft but firm slid down his throat.

La Sombra yanked the soiled shirt the boy was wearing back so hard it strangled him and ground the smoldering cigar he held between his fingers into his naked shoulder with an evil pledge as he wrapped his arm around his neck to partially choke him. "You can live a little longer, boy; my gift to you, but you'll be next if I don't get my money soon, I promise you that!"

Then he was punched in the face hard by the murdering bastard, but he didn't feel anything as his body leaned back for the fall tied to the chair, not even his broken nose.

The fragments of his horrible memories turned black.

Then a miraculous bright light shone on him from behind.

In silence, the boy panted as his red tinged father rose, first to his knees, then after breaking the blood soaked bonds around his wrists, Peapod got up onto his feet to stare him in the face. “You will have a choice to make, son.”

Chunky red fluid dripped down from the large hole blown out from his forehead, down his nose, and then to his lips, and as his father spoke, he spat the grayish red pieces onto his face as it sank into his skin, "When that time comes you’ll know the right thing to do, won't you?"

Weeks of decay took place in moments as the boy watched his father's skin turn from flesh color, to drained whitish yellow, then blackened with rot, and below the festering skin of his father's stomach swelled as something squirmed behind it, and then split open vertically.

Instead of large and small intestines pouring out, long wet, black snakes issued forth with flicking pink tongues to writhe in a wet mass at the boy's feet, then slither away out the door of the darkened hut to the outdoors, trailing black blood; and fluid behind their wake as they shed their thin skins.

His dead father then reached up with his shriveled black rotting hands, stripped off his black dripping wet decaying face like a mask, and placed it onto his son’s as flies swarmed to crawl over what was left of the blackening muscle and graying bones of his skull.

He was a little boy sitting in that chair struggling again, but when his father put the skin of his face onto his it became a mask, and his body was replaced by that of an almost full grown man, his voice taking a manly tenor as he spoke. "I will make you proud."

With a start the boy jerked out of sleep with a scream panting to draw cool breath into his hot body, instead of the beautiful humid, turned terrible jungles, he was in a comfortable bed dripping with sweat in an apartment in the neighborhood where his mother had grown up that she had used almost the last of their money to move into that very day.

Here he was in a new place again, the seventh move in almost two years, and the characters in The Grapes of Wrath had nothing on them. This place they were in for however long was nice enough, but with each departure and arrival from one home to another, the quality of dwellings his mother found for them to live in steadily declined.

It wouldn't matter if they were in a mansion or a complete ghetto slum though, because he couldn't sleep to save his life, but then again, because of the nightmares he didn't want to either.

When black sleep saw fit to conquer him, indelible memories re-lived in his nightmarish days turned into a cold dark hell that repeated itself in his mind almost every night, augmented by the surreal additions of being in the world of dreams.

At times it was difficult for the troubled boy to distinguish the differences between the realms of the waking world, and the sackcloth darkness of his subconscious.

But this time he was pretty sure he was awake, as streetlights glowed from the sidewalk, and sirens of either police or emergency vehicles pierced the cold night air.

He turned on a light on his bedside table, and felt with his left, three fingered hand, the smooth cigar scar that adorned the naked blade of his right shoulder, and then moved his hand to the front of his body, allowing his thumb to touch the perfectly round scar in the middle of his chest.  
The shadows of unpacked boxes littered the faded wooden floors and blue painted walls, making him feel as if he were trapped in a cubist painting done by an amateur who obviously didn't have a clue what they were doing.

The young man looked up into the doorway of another anonymous room that was designated his, and she appeared all too soon. He knew that his mother was going to try to comfort him but couldn't, it wasn't her fault, though.

He thought he had at last mastered the ability to awaken before his night terrors gripped him too hard, but at times he was lax. "Daniel?" She didn't even know why she asked as she sat down on his bed, pulling him into her safe arms to comfort him, "Are you alright?"

Nadine could both feel and hear her son's heart pounding in his chest, Daniel of course lied to her and dismissed his scream aloud assuring her that he was fine, but she knew better. "Oh, my darling, it's okay." She re-assured as she rocked the fragile boy, almost a man in her arms. "But don't lie to me." With a sigh, Nadine begged him to verify, "You had the dream again didn't you?"

Ashamed of his weakness, feeling childish, and foolish, because here he was, almost eighteen, and his mother had to chase away his demons for him, he pushed her arms away from himself in disgust, and spat, "Leave me alone! I can handle it by myself, Mom."

Nadine cupped his face in hers and shook her head, "No, not by yourself." Nadine added, "Everything is going to be alright."

Daniel knew she meant well, so for her benefit, he took a sip of water and swallowed one of the last few pills she offered him left over from a doctor south of the boarder with questionable credentials.

Not knowing anything more that she could possibly do for her tortured boy, the loving mother removed her robe, got into bed with her sweat drenched son, and held him as the medication waved him away to a place where she prayed he could sleep without another fitful dream through that night at least.

He didn't want her to hold him but let her anyway, he knew it made her feel as she were helping, and there was no reason why his mother had to suffer more than she already did. Sometimes, for her sake, he wished that he had his brains blown out like his father did too, instead of being rescued by the Venezuelan army.

At least his mother could have moved on with her life, she wouldn’t be nearly destitute, and wouldn't have a reason to constantly move or have the burden of hauling him to expensive doctors she couldn’t afford in the attempt to fix him.

Nobody wants to admit their fucked up kid is batshit crazy, much less feel responsible for it.

At least he was a special case, because unlike other people who had lost their minds, he knew he was too far gone for psychological help, and there was only one thing that was ever going to help him have any kind of peace for as long as he lived.

If he could do that, his torment would be over.

Daniel knew that might be killed in the process, or when he was finished doing what he had in mind, he would spend what was left of his life in prison; but at least he would be unburdened.

As his mother stroked him with tears welling in her eyes, Daniel's eyes became heavier by the moment, but before he drifted into sleep again, the angry boy promised himself once more that he was going to go back.

The promise of going back to that hellhole with the hopes of getting revenge kept him sane and focused; it was the one thing he that had left to hold onto, and the only reason why he hadn’t finished the job they started and killed himself.

When he did go back, he was going to scour every town, every city and every inch of the green jungles if he had to, to find the trash that murdered his good hearted father in cold blood right before his eyes and then ran away like the cowards they were when the rescue teams got too close.

Those sorry sons of bitches would be easy to find too, because he would never forget their damned faces because no measure of time or the wrinkles of age could hide the truth of their cold, black soulless eyes, nor buy them forgiveness for what they had taken from him and his mother.

When that glorious day arrived, Jonathan Daniel Peapod was going to be avenged, because his son was going to slit the throats of every God damn last one of them and then hang them upside down by their feet to bleed out like the pigs they were.

Undeserving of the prayers of a priest and a holy burial, he would leave them to bloat and turn black in the heat of the tropics. Then, and only then, for the first time in their lives would the stinking murderers be of any use to anything, havens for swarming flies, incubators for maggots, and flesh for carrion eaters.

Again, for the second time that evening, the disturbed boy drifted off to a fitful sleep clouded hate, the black emotion consuming yet another meal made from the young man's once innocent, gentle soul.

Grateful the boy was sleeping, as she ran her hands through Daniel's hair, Nadine remembered Peapod's dark brown hair, because it looked exactly like it. Divine how soft it was, she would cuddle with the man she loved and stroke it in the evenings; and while she did, she and Peapod would talk after a busy day, or muse about sweet things after making love.

Now, all she could remember was her foolish, poorly thought through insistence to go to that God forsaken jungle in the selfish pursuit of her career. She had been warned by the State Department, her own university, and locals she had befriended to stay away from that valley, but she refused to listen, determined to find and name a species of insect all her own.

All the greed of her scholarly pursuits had gained was the blood of her husband on her hands, a son who was tormented every day of his life by memories of torture along with witnessing his father‘s senseless, violent murder, and her life stained with regret.

Even worse, when her husband and son were captured by the local outlaws who ultimately destroyed her family, she didn’t stay and try to protect them; instead she ran away into the thick underbrush of the forest and hid.

An unforgivable act of cowardice she’d never forgive herself for, guilt filled Nadine to the core of her soul.

While growing up she was taught to have faith, and to believe that everything happened for a reason but after everything that had happened to her family, there were times that she struggled. Despite it all, yes, she still believed in God because yes her husband was murdered, but her prayers did bring her son back to her.

But then again, he didn't come back, at least not as the same person.

When Daniel was home schooled, he was fine, and excelled, but when she took a job as a professor at a university and he began going to public school, the real trouble began. When there, Daniel was withdrawn from his peers, and worse, some of them bullied him so as a result her son had been in so many fights and confrontations, she’d lost count.

Eventually, Daniel had been expelled from all of the schools she enrolled him in, and those that were left would not accept him because of his record of discipline problems.

Nadine knew that it wasn't entirely his fault; he had endured something that no living creature, much less a human being should be forced to. He survived it, this was true, but the results of it tortured him daily in memory, just as they did when it first occurred.

When she was in their last home, Nadine went to church, got on her knees, and prayed, no, begged God to help her, to give her some sort of sign and to please show her what to do.

A week or so afterwards, ironically a day she was home after picking up her son from school from yet another fight, he was in his room and she was watching television while folding towels.

Nadine Peapod had been gone from the United States for years, but she could not believe whom it was sitting on a couch speaking to Okrah Winseed. Despite the passage of time, she couldn’t forget the feisty blonde-haired woman she once knew as a child. Actually, Nadine watched her compete as a runner in the Olympics over twenty years ago as a spectator when she was doing research in Brazil on a grant and tried desperately to contact the elusive woman while she was in Rio De Janiero, just to catch up, but the attempt was unsuccessful.

Twenty odd years later, Okrah’s guest for the day was Helga Pataki, but her last name was Shortman now, she was a doctor, and a noted child psychologist who in fact, had done groundbreaking work in assisting children who had suffered severe posttraumatic stress syndrome.

No other sign from God being more real, and her desperate prayer answered, Nadine knew that Doctor Helga Shortman was exactly who Daniel needed to get the help he needed to heal from his wounds.

With help from a professor who remembered her as a student from another college, Nadine secured a teaching position at State University, Hillwood City campus. One more time, she packed hers and her son's things, and this time, moved them both back to her hometown.

Nadine already made an appointment with Doctor Shortman for a preliminary consultation session with the receptionist for that very day, but some unforeseen event occurred and their appointment was postponed until the first day of the coming week.

Nadine wished that she could keep Daniel home, teach him herself, and get the help for him that he needed in the meantime, but she needed to work so they could live. They were almost out of money and Daniel still had to go to school, the law said that, and she couldn't disobey the law.

That day, after not being able to hold off the inevitable any longer, Nadine took Daniel to Hillwood High after school let out to try to enroll him. At first she hadn't gotten her hopes up, but despite his record, Hillwood accepted him as a senior student, and he would begin classes starting the coming Monday.

If worst came to worse, and Daniel had problems at Hillwood, Nadine could enroll him in a local private school, but she prayed that Daniel could last long enough at Hillwood High to graduate.

After that, college could wait, and she would help her son get better.

Nadine just hoped to God Helga remembered her.

If she didn't, she knew that surely Rhonda Lloyd would as soon as she found her, at least she knew that much, they were best friends as children all the way through high school and the first two years of college.

Then a shock of horror ran up her spine, grating its sharp claws against the back of her newfound hope.

What if the damage done to Daniel was too great and he would never recover from the trauma he suffered, even with psychological therapy?

With a kiss on her sleeping son's moist forehead and her hand running across it, Nadine threw those doubts out of her mind for once and for all.

They had come too far to give up, Daniel was strong, he would conquer this, and he'd be okay after he got some help.

He had to be.

Dear God, the boy was all she had left to hold on to.

Unknown to the couple inside, perched outside on the fire escape hiding underneath the window, Monkeyman listened to the entire conversation and then the silence with a swell of relief. He felt nothing but pity for both the young man who had been screaming and the woman who was trying to calm him. When he felt it was safe, Monkeyman rose slightly to peer into the window, and saw that a blonde woman was holding whom he assumed was her son, he looked almost grown, but when he cried out, he sounded like a little boy terrified beyond belief.

He was relieved, because a scream the likes of which he heard was horrible, like someone being tortured or killed. Monkeyman wondered what the two were talking about and what kind of terror that the boy felt that merited the woman to cuddle him like a baby.

It had to have been terribly bad.

He took one last look to make sure that everything was okay, and then taking care he wasn't seen, Monkeyman climbed the rest of the fire escape, onto the rooftop, and jumped across to another building.

After he crossed the roof top to the other side, to his surprise, he heard a familiar rumble pass beneath him. Not quite believing his luck but grateful for the convenience of not having to chase her down, Monkeyman was rather surprised to find that Rhonda’s daughter had company for a change and immediately became suspicious when he saw what was occupying the passenger seat.

Oh sure, everything seemed to be well; they both were laughing, talking, and listening to disco, but still, it was a boy and he had concerns.

It was getting late and his leg was beginning to hurt again as Doctor Shortman's lidocaine was wearing off. He had seriously considered calling off the rest of the evening's patrol because of his discomfort, but he had worked in pain in the past, this was an interesting development to say the least, so Monkeyman was going to see what came of it.

As Monkeyman threw himself off of rooftops, and swung across divides between buildings on triple reinforced carbon fiber flag poles strategically placed in close increments, he thought that boy better behave himself, and treat Miss Gammelthorpe like a lady, or else, regardless of being the son of Doctor Shortman or not.

* * *

Courtney and Miles executed another loop up Main Street which was one way only, for the fifth time in twice as many minutes, trolling for a spot in front of the restaurant they had chosen to have their late night meal at so she could keep an eye on her car.

Miles who completely understood and found perverse humor in the parallels between Courtney's obsessive protection of her car and his mother's obsession with her own Corvette joked, "You and my mom should go bowling together someday, but when you do, just drive something you won't have to worry so much about." Before Courtney could answer, Miles yelped, "Is that one?" While pointing in excitement, hoping that the vehicle that had its lights on was backing out.

Courtney slowed down, but when they saw the head and taillights of the car blink several times in quick succession as the owner locked the car, Courtney's shoulders slumped. "Nope." With consternation she mentioned offhandedly, "I feel like a manta ray circling for something to filter feed on."

Miles grinned, "Well, you're in the right car for it, Miss Gammelthorpe."

Courtney shrugged, "I wish this were a Stingray."

Miles assuaged, "Technically, this car is a Stingray" Courtney pursed her lips, and he added sheepishly, "Well, it is in body." The boy shrugged and pointed behind himself, "Besides, if this were a Stingray, it would have a sugar scoop back instead of this cool fastback rear glass, and regular crossed flags; instead of the pretty twenty fifth anniversary front and back badges on the nose and gas door. You also don't have that pesky, awful looking security system key lock in the driver's side fender either."

Courtney admired not only Miles' arguments, but also his intimate knowledge of the vehicle they rode in. "This is true." Noticing the hour, minutes, and seconds of time counting away on the red lit digital clock on the outside of Hillwood first national bank, she tired of the futile effort of finding a parking space on Main Street during peak hours.

Conceding defeat, with frustration the girl drove to the end of the road. "I'm sorry, Miles." She said dejectedly, hating to inconvenience the boy. "I hope you don't mind walking, but I don't think we're going to find a parking spot here. It's Friday night in a college town, and things are going to be crowded around here at least until two in the morning."

"I don't mind walking at all." The boy said cheerily as Courtney found a wonderfully desolate, dark, and rather unsafe looking section of unoccupied spaces directly in front of the popular hangout for younger local kids, the landmark Mighty Pete, its sturdy trunk and full canopy guarding the back of a large apartment complex. "I'm having a good time hanging out with you."

Courtney smiled, and couldn't help but think of how cute Miles was as her attention turned to the environment directly around them. The area around the tree and sidewalk was pitch black save for the dim light coming from apartment windows, streetlights, and she wouldn't park there if she were by herself for love of money, even if an entire army of Monkeymen were patrolling.

Since she had a male escort with her though, despite evidence to the contrary seemed to possess some rudimentary defensive skills, she felt safe enough to park there.

So as she and Miles placed the tops back on the car and locked them down, Miles closed his door, checking to make sure it was locked before suggesting, "Now, I'm paying for dinner. I mean it was my idea in the first place, so I get to pay for it, okay?"

Courtney sighed, and moved her hands to the side, "I told you I wasn't going to argue with you over it any more, Mr. Shortman."

Miles tilted his head, and was going to risk re-hashing the argument to make sure they had an understanding because her answer could have multiple interpretations. Before instigating such however, he noticed Courtney staring upwards behind him at the rather elaborate tree house that was securely ensconced in the branches of Mighty Pete. "It is a neat old place, isn't it?"

As the boy told her something about the tree being the last example of its species living in the neighborhood, going as far as giving its scientific name in Latin, Courtney fumbled around in the shoebox Miles had given her again; and slipped something into the pocket of her jeans. As she watched what she felt was a much too flimsy rope and wooden wrung ladder gently sway in the cool evening breeze, Courtney volunteered, "I've never been up there before."

Miles whipped his head around in non-belief, "What? Never ever?"

"No, I've never climbed up into the tree house before."

Miles shook his head, “Well that’s gotta’ change, Courtney!“

The girl deftly changed the subject knowing that wasn‘t ever going to happen. "C'mon, let's go eat!"

As the two of them cut across the three way intersection checking for cars, Miles took furtive glances at Courtney, wishing he hadn’t made such a big deal about her never climbing up into Mighty Pete. He knew that she was terrified of heights, and that whenever she was forced to climb stairs at school; she always used the stairwell in the middle of the hall to get to her classes on the second floor because it didn't have any windows. Miles could tell that her phobia shamed her, but if he weren't mistaken the look in her eyes betrayed what he thought might be a longing to go up into the tree house too, but he wisely dropped it until a more advantageous time.

As they walked up the sidewalk weaving in and out of groups of talking people, Courtney was grateful that none of them were from their school, she would sooner crawl into a hole and die than have a repeat of the well meaning, but entirely unwanted attention she had gotten in front of Slausen's from her classmates. Embarrassing to no end, it irritated Courtney that her notoriety had come not from her academic or sports related successes, but instead stemmed from her acting like a total jackass with anger issues.

The crowd on the sidewalk, for the most part, was loud young men and women in their late teens, and early twenties on dates, or hoping to get dates as they stood outside clubs talking in circles of four or more and flirting. In the alleyways, more interesting courtship rituals were taking place, and despite the fact that both Miles and Courtney tried to not notice, there was a voyeuristic appeal to them as well. When they caught each other looking at the romantically inclined couples engaging in everything from kissing, to rounding second base both blushed and diverted eye contact from one another.

Grateful to be getting near their destination, Fung Chong’s was a popular family friendly Hillwood eatery, one could get take out for home, but it was also a romantic weekend nightspot for lovers of all ages who enjoyed the safely exotic.

As they neared the large, extravagant entrance of the eatery, and it came into better view, it was as if they were transported to the gates of Chinatown, San Francisco.

Not satisfied with a mere door to greet customers, the owners of the Hillwood institution treated their customers to a long sloping, ornate green terra cotta roof curled upwards on the corners which were decorated with raised Chinese characters intricately gilded with gold leaf; and supported by two large red painted pillars encircled by gold and green painted dragons.

By both wide red pillars, there sat two large, snarling white marble lions with tilted heads and rough curly manes that stood steadfast guard over the establishment with their smooth carved paws perched proudly on their pedestals with their claws un-sheathed.

In the window, a red and blue neon OPEN sign blinked and beckoned entry to the establishment along with a large statue of the legendary bibbed and belled white cat of yore, the Maneki Neko. Pausing to stand in front of the door, they deeply inhaled the seductive scent of steaming soy sauce, oil, garlic, and ginger that hung on the shoulders of the air, making both kids' stomachs rumble in delicious anticipation of a wonderfully filling meal.

It was getting late, but plenty of people were still walking in and out of the tiny eatery with stapled paper bags and white Styrofoam clamshell trays, and as the couple peered into the restaurant windows, they saw that the dining area looked nearly empty.

Before Courtney could go inside feeling correct, she had to honor the ritual she had observed ever since she was old enough to remember. With a warm feeling, she placed her fingers inside of one of the mouths of the marble lions and rolled the intricately carved smooth round ball that was inside the white animal's grimacing maw with her slender fingers. When she was little her mother or father had to pick her up to do so, but now she was tall enough to do it on her own.

Feeling a little silly for still indulging in such a childish thing, especially in front of the interesting boy she was escorted by, Courtney tilted her head in surprise and had to smile because Miles was doing the exact same thing she was moments before, but with much more...passion.

Unknown to the young couple, a dark shrouded mysterious figure watched from a rooftop across the road. As he perched the foot of his injured leg on the edge of the rooftop to lessen the throbbing sensation and growing pain radiating from the wound in his thigh, the man smiled down at the girl. Soon enough though, his attention turned to the young man in Miss Gammelthorpe's company in high scrutiny.

Despite the fact that he was Helga and Arnold's boy, he had still made up his mind to mistrust him for the moment, but, he couldn't help but sort of chortle as the awkward moment the girl had caught him in unfurled.

When Miles sensed Courtney's attention shifted towards him, and his childlike poking of the rolling round ball in the left lion's mouth, obviously having an extremely good time doing so, he grinned abashedly with a deeply red face; and allowed sort of shortened deep titter out of his throat.

Monkeyman all but had to put his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud at the boy, because he was acting like a total goof.

Helga Shortman couldn't deny that was her child if she tried.

As he thought more on the situation, the black clad avenger knew he probably shouldn't give into his tempting impulses, but ultimately he just couldn't resist.

He'd most certainly pay for it later on, but life was short, he had enjoyed a really shitty night so far, and was in the mood to have some fun; besides, it was his duty to patrol the streets of Hillwood wasn't it?

As he watched before retreating to the other side of the roof, Monkeyman thought that boy had better open the door for Miss Gammelthorpe too.

* * *

Bounding over to the door with one long step, almost tripping over a section of sidewalk that was standing proudly of the other, Miles opened the door to the darkened establishment, and gallantly motioned to Courtney to step inside first. As he did, he wasn't quite sure if he had won the argument with the surprisingly stubborn girl as to who was going to pay the bill for their late night snack or not, but he was going to, one way or the other.

Usually, just inside the entrance, there was a sign usually asking that patrons to Please wait to be seated standing on a chrome display stand by the door, but tonight it was turned to, please, seat yourselves. By that, there was a five foot tall mahogany carving of Buddha whose stomach had been smoothed shinier than the rest of the statue by the repeated application of countless hands hoping for good luck, and theirs were no exception.

A few feet away was a small blue tiled pond with a functioning bridge located over rippling water underneath it. The sound of soft music playing over the sound system accentuated the running water while beautiful golden, white, black, and orange multi colored koi carp glided in weightless circles between aquatic plants and reflective gazing balls.

Wanting to be a gentleman, Miles asked, "Where would you like to sit, Courtney?"

The girl scanned a familiar section of the restaurant, and luckily, she, and her father's favorite table was free. Courtney pointed and said, "If it's okay with you, I’d like to sit over there, by the window."

As Miles extended his hand, he asked, "Lead the way."

As she did, Courtney took the boy's hand in hers and led him to a neatly appointed table complete with white tablecloth, red linen wrapped utensils, and a flickering candle inside of a transparent red glass bowl.

Miles pulled out the chair to the right for Courtney and helped her push in and then took the seat in front of her. Then Courtney placed her purse to the side of the chair and folded her hands on top of the stiff starched white tablecloth. As Courtney and Miles looked around at other tables waiting to be served, she remarked, "Its like this table was waiting for us, none of the other ones have linens on them any more or the candles lit but this one."

A handsome, well groomed, dark haired man their parent's age who had been eavesdropping stepped forward. He had on a pair of black dress slacks, a red shirt, and a white coat with a bleached white towel smartly perched on his right arm as he held a note pad in his left hand and a sharpened pencil in his right. "Actually, Miss Gammelthorpe, this table was waiting precisely for you because I saw you walking up the sidewalk and this is you and your father's usual table is it not?"

Courtney jumped up, and hugged her mother and father's old friend Park. As he hugged the girl back, the man's attention then shifted to Miles, and the sorry condition of his face. Instead of asking what had happened to him because he had already heard the entire story in painfully lurid detail from both his son and daughter that afternoon, Park winked at Miles, "I also see that instead of the mayor of Hillwood City, you've also managed to bring one of the Wonder Twins with you as well, Fu."

Courtney released the man she had known her entire life as "Uncle Park", while Miles rose and extended his right hand for the man to shake, grateful to him for not mentioning his split lip, and both the sorely swollen bluing lump, and smarting cut on his head, "How are you, Mr. Dodson, and Mrs. Dodson?"

Courtney in near disbelief asked, "You know Park too?"

The boy shrugged, "Who doesn’t? Park is a Hillwood City institution."

Park raised his finger. "In lieu of your mother’s absence, Miles, may I please add that I belong in an institution." The man carefully added for his own benefit, "Even though that is not the case." The man looked upwards, "I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't tell Helga that I both I stole her line, and used it to rag on myself, because she will never allow me to live it down."

"I promise." Miles declared with his right hand as he seated himself once again while Park resumed the former conversation. "As per your question, Shortman, I'm doing well. Katrinka is fine too, she's been extremely busy at the animal clinic," The man looked around, and then cut an eye towards the boy," Where is that mischievous Kyo Johannsen at?" Park patted Miles on the shoulder and pointed at him, "It is so seldom one sees Frick without Frack."

Miles grinned, "Ducky is babysitting Frack tonight."

Park crossed his arms, "Are they still just friends?"

Before Miles could theorize, Courtney interjected, "I believe things may become a little more interesting tonight."

Park laughed at Miles' non verbal response as the boy looked at Courtney, then wondered, "How are your mother and father doing, Shortman? I haven't seen them around here lately."

Miles smiled, "Well dad's getting ready to go on another book tour, and mom is busy with her patients."

Park’s response was ecstatic. "Oh, I can’t wait! I love all of your dad’s books. I saw the sneak previews for his new one online and it looks like it's going to be a good read!" With a wink, he added, “I hope Arnold will autograph one for me.”

Miles smiled, “Forget his biggest fan? No way.”

Park grinned wickedly, "Do you think Helga will kill him for writing it?" Courtney's eyes settled on Miles, wondering what his reaction would be, it would be interesting, probably.

"I don't know," The boy truthfully admitted, "But if she hasn't done it yet, I doubt she ever will." Miles grinned, "I think she loves him too much."

Before Park could answer, there was a high pitched scream and a general uproar outside the window when people pointed at a black figure quickly running past on the sidewalk as a stray dog chased after, barking.

As he did, the spandex clad man with questionable sanity screamed at the top of his lungs in a deep commanding voice, "MONKEYMAAAAAAAN!"

That needlessly obvious announcement was followed by a wild cackle as he leapt into the air, caught a flagpole, and swung away to a nearby rooftop on a rope.

As Miles was occupied with trying to catch a glimpse of the vigilante hero himself, Park pointed to Miles then to her multiple times, mouthed, 'you and him?', as he cast a sly accusatory look.

"Oh, God!" Courtney remarked with what to the trained ear might have sounded like embarrassment as she put her forehead into her hand. Why she did it though, Park had absolutely no idea.

With a large smile, Park wryly remarked to Miles who was still peering outside, "That guy is nuttier than a fruitcake made by squirrels."

The spicy brunette then muttered through the shelter of her hand and hair with exasperation, "Tell me about it."

Courtney raised her shaking head upwards and harshly exhaled while looking out the window herself. As Park stifled a snicker with his balled fist held to his lips, Courtney cut him a look, but all of the subtle actions were missed by Miles, who still had his face pressed against the inside glass, peering out of it like a child searching for his hero.

Then Courtney added dryly, "They should lock up that nutjob and throw away the key!" Park lost his composure and began to cackle loudly while steadying himself with his hand on Courtney's shoulder. Finding little humor, Miles leapt to the defense of Hillwood's beleaguered vigilante vehemently.

"Monkeyman is a hero!" The boy's exclamation was loud, but when he noticed both Park and Courtney's expressions, toned it down. "He's saved lots of people's lives, gotten scum off the street that belongs in jail and protected people's property too!" Miles looked at the gazes of surprise garnered from his support of the local hero, then added more quietly, "He should be given the key to the city instead of the grief the police do!"

Miles was going to add that he wished that Monkeyman was the mayor of Hillwood City too, but considering that Courtney's father currently was the mayor, that would be rude, it would rightly anger her, and that certainly was not in his best interests at the moment.

Park and Courtney stared at Miles as he blushed brightly, and finally Courtney nodded, letting him off the hook for the outburst, "You're right, Miles, Monkeyman really does seem to care about all of the people living in Hillwood City." The naughty girl also added while Miles was disarmed, "Also, Park, please don't take Miles' money for our food this evening, it's my treat."

Miles sighed and put his thumb and index finger on his temples, "I thought we had a deal, Courtney, you promised you weren't going to argue about this anymore. I thought we said that I could pay for our food tonight."

Courtney grinned, "No, I never promised anything, or said I was letting you pay at any point this evening." The girl sighed, "What I said was that I was treating earlier, and I wasn't going to argue with you about it anymore." Self satisfied, and guessing she had won, Courtney declared, "The argument is over."

Park shook his head as the benign argument grew between both kids but before the showdown reached it's climax, Park announced, "Neither one of you will be paying for anything tonight, because it's on the house!" Both kids faced him, and opened their mouths to protest, but Park put his foot down. "I'm the owner of this wonderful eating establishment, I'm the boss, and what I say in here goes, so say just thank you and be quiet!" The man ended with his own satisfied smile, "Now the argument really is over."

Both kids looked at Park's squinted brown eyes and with them he dared either one of the kids he knew since they were clad in diapers to refute what he had just mandated. Both kids did as commanded, and said, "Thank you."

"You are welcome." Observing the children, Park could see parallels between Miles, and Courtney's parents in them.

Conceding defeat, Miles offered, "Well, if it's okay with you, Courtney, how about ordering for both of us?"

Park smiled. He loved Rhonda and Thad; they were his best friends in the world.

When the odd couple was dating and dined in what was then his father's restaurant, they would always look at the menu and examine the many choices, but without fail they always ordered the same thing.

Once, as a joke, his father dared them to eat something different, just once, citing if they did, he would not charge them for their meal no matter what it was; even the lobster. Rhonda and Thad just looked at each other in that way that they did frequently, as if they were reading each other's thoughts, and then told him that it wouldn't be good luck if they ate something different, and refused.

"Don't worry, Fu," Park said affectionately with a wink as he took both menus from the table as Courtney smiled, "I know exactly what you want."

The girl grinned, "Thanks, Park."

The smiling man raised his arm, snapped his fingers, and the kids looked at each other in surprise as another well dressed man carried a tray over laden with a hot pot of tea, two ceramic cups with no handles, and a large, generously filled bowl of warm fried noodles over on a tray, placing the contents before them with a flair.

Park grinned widely and declared, "Your entrees will be out shortly."

After that, the man left, Miles cocked his head and asked the lovely girl, "What was it that Park called you?"

Courtney smiled fondly. "Fu, he's called me that for as long as I can remember, it means blessed in Chinese."

Glad that it wasn’t what he thought at first, fool; Miles nodded upwards, “Oh.” The two reached for the bowl of noodles at the same time, and as their fingers touched, with a blush, Miles moved his hand backwards. "You go first."

Surprised at Miles' continued politeness, carried over from that afternoon, she accepted his offer with a smile. “Thank you.”

After getting a small helping of noodles to eat, Miles reached into the bowl for some, and as he did, the considerate girl reciprocated his politeness by pouring steaming tea into his cup. As she did, she watched the deep brown fluid level rise in the cup as she held the top on the small silver kettle to keep it from falling off, all the while stealing glances at Miles.

Sometimes Courtney's eyes met Miles', sometimes not, but both were smiling and blushing.  
After Courtney filled his tiny white cup, she did hers, but the curious girl noticed that Miles hadn't taken a sip of his tea yet. Only when she put down the tiny pot, and reached down to take her cup in her chilled fingers did Miles take his, and as she sipped, he sipped.

While they contemplated the true natures of each other in the relative darkness of the restaurant in comfortable silence, they enjoyed for the first time all day, a feeling of well earned peace.

Even kinship, perhaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Arnold was created by Craig Bartlett, and is owned by Viacom Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The Legend of Korra was created by Michael Dante Dimartino, Bryan Konietzko, and is owned by Viacom Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> Thundercats was created by Ted Wolf, all related characters' names, vehicle, and location references belong to Time Warner Inc. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> Transformers and all related character names belong to Hasbro Inc. under license from Takara/Tomy Ltd. of Japan. No infringement on their copyrighted materials is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> John Steinbeck wrote the novel, "The Grapes of Wrath". No infringement on his work or the publisher‘s rights are implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> Nylon is a registered trademark of the DuPont Company Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> John Phillip Sousa wrote the musical composition Stars and Stripes Forever. The work is public domain, however no infringement on Sousa’s work is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> Whatcha’ Know Joe was composed by Young, and performed by Jo Stafford and the Tommy Dorsey Band. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred. 
> 
> The song "Cuba" was composed by Daniel Vangarde, performed by the Gibson Brothers, and owned by Polygram Records Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred. 
> 
> The soundtrack of Transformers: The Movie (1986) and the song, Dare, (Stan Bush) which the title of this chapter comes from is owned/printed by Volcano Entertainment, formerly known as Scotti Brothers Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> Unfortunately, Willie, the third generation Corvette of cats, passed several years ago, but his memory will live on......


	13. Tic Tac

Still slightly damp from her second shower of the evening, Helga adjusted the towel twisted atop her head once again as she toted a basket of linen down to the basement even though she really didn't want to have to do a full load of clothes at this time of the evening.

Unable to let blood sit on her clothes or one of her good towels all night because it would stain, Helga felt she shouldn't waste a full tub of wash water and a cup of soap on just two articles of clothing. With that, Helga had to muse that no good deed went un-punished and the near midnight run on a full load of laundry was proof of such.

The pontificating woman figured that it didn't matter because she'd be up anyway, besides, if she got this work done tonight, she'd be able to do more of what she wanted to tomorrow, which was absolutely nothing.

Helga knew that her kids were almost adults and was more than sure that the last thing that they wanted was their mother waiting up for them to get home, but Miles and Gertie were still her babies, and she wouldn’t have a minute of peace until she knew both of them were home and safe, which had better be soon.

She tried to fight the urge to unleash it every time, but as soon as they were home, the lame ass mom in her invariably popped out, and Helga was obligated to assail her children with sloppy kisses, overly tight hugs; and afterwards, a complete run down of what happened at work, then their after work hours activities, sparing no detail.

When she was the twins’ age, Helga solemnly swore that she would never be that way with her own kids, but she couldn't help it. Now more wise and a little older, she felt all parents should be that way, if some made an effort to care a little more and pay attention, the world might be filled with a little less misery.

Hell, even when she was a little kid, Miriam, who would be so drunk she couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with a handful of beans, somehow managed to sober up enough to make sure she was home safe from field trips and outings with friends before sinking back into a coma again.

Actually, it wouldn't be long before Miriam and her stepfather would be coming in for their yearly one-month visit. Helga was so grateful that her mother dried out and that Miles and Gertie never had to see their grandmother as she had in the past. She hated to think it, but if it weren't for her father's death, Miriam would probably still be an alcoholic, either that or dead.

In those dark days of confusion after her father's demise, Helga was angry at the world, she hated her sister even more if that were possible, had no patience or respect whatsoever for her mother, and resented her father for both dying and leaving her alone with the both of them. By then, Olga of course was a college graduate and had the freedom to stay in Hillwood, but being a minor, she had to pack up and go with Miriam to live with her grandmother in South Dakota until her mother could get their lives straightened out.

Of course Helga didn't realize, or even want to hear of such then but it was the best thing that could have ever happened to her and Elizabeth Bliss, God bless her, was the lifeline she clung to when she and Miriam were settling into their new lives in Sioux Falls.

Liz helped her work through her grief over her father's passing, find healthy outlets for the void left by her obsession with "ice cream", and most importantly, helping her re-connect with her mother. As Miriam became more stable, quit drinking, and with the passage of time, married a kind man who loved her as equally as he did his own children, the angry girl became stable too and as a result, she became more confident, self-reliant, and because of that, Helga needed Doctor Bliss' advice and support less frequently.

Eventually doctor and patient lost touch somewhere along the tenth grade in high school but Helga Pataki never forgot Elizabeth Bliss' kindness to her by getting her through one of the hardest times of her life. As a result, the grateful girl wanted to emulate her savior, and in that vein, started down the path towards becoming a child psychologist, hoping that someday she could make a difference in a young person’s life by helping them live through emotional hell and survive it intact, just as Doctor Bliss had done for her.

When she finished work on her bachelor degree, and simultaneously retired from Olympic competitions, Helga was searching for places to earn her master and doctoral degrees, and on a whim, did a search for Doctor Bliss, hoping to get some advice for the best university to attend. It wasn't to her surprise, but she found that Elizabeth Bliss penned a book all her own to place on her vaunted shelves, and was promoted to head of the psychology department at State college. After some more research, Helga found that her old mentor was doing some sort of bizarre behavioral experiment with monkeys and field mice, utilizing positive reinforcement.

No member of a childhood animal club who liked giraffes and killer whales would condone any other form of experimentation.

After finding her, and discussing her goals with her old mentor, Elizabeth sold Helga on a move back to Hillwood City so she could pursue her continued education at the institution where she was teaching so that she could help her.

When they met again for the first time in eight years, and after a long, tight hug that lasted for what seemed forever, Helga apologized to the kind woman for not keeping in contact with her, expressing the sentiment that it was ungrateful of her not to do so. To the contrary, Doctor Bliss was overjoyed Helga didn't need her help any longer, that it meant her former patient was living life on her own terms, and could make decisions on her own. Elizabeth Bliss said that Helga’s self-efficacy was one of the greatest rewards that she had ever received in her career and then politely asked for autographs on a framed poster that hung in her office, the covers of a few magazines, an unopened can of soda, and lastly a cereal box.

Now the grateful woman had come full circle, and Helga was overjoyed that Elizabeth had become her colleague, and that she had the privilege, no, honor of working with her professionally. In her heart however, there was never a moment in which she knew the woman, minus the first fifteen minutes of their first session when she was a misguided nine year old, could Helga say Elizabeth Bliss was not her friend.

After spraying her shirt with another hit of bright blue stain remover for luck, Helga put her first stylish bedtime ensemble of boxers and a generously holed t-shirt into the washing machine as it filled. While she was at it, she put the clothes in the basket by the washer inside, and when she did, the dark brown terry cloth towel wrapped around her damp hair loosened once more.

With frustration, Helga yanked the towel of her still warm, damp head for the last time, and threw it into the wash with the other laundry, spitting an irritated, "There, you seem to want it more than I do, so take the damn thing!" Then she blew her cold, stuck together bangs out of her face as they brushed against her warm cheeks, brushing them back with her hand.

After closing the lid the agitator to shift into action and adjusting her damp, stringy hair, Helga began reading the sign that had hung in the tiny laundry room since the place became a boarding house, she’d been reading it off and on for years, but somehow Helga neglected to memorize them.

There were nine commandments in all, one less than posted in the bible, but no less holy.

According to Phil, the laundry room rules were a work in progress amended only when needed, but in her imagination, Helga could see Arnold's bedeviling grandfather sporting a blue candy floss beard that Gertie plastered on his face standing atop Hawk Mountain.

Moses of The Sunset Arms, Phil would be wrapped in a red and white checkered tablecloth, perched atop a bleached grey rickety picnic table covered with lichens and rusty bolts; receiving the unorthodox laws from God himself to take down to his unruly boarders.

Years ago, Arnold said that she could take the sign down if she wanted to, but the thought never crossed her mind because it was part of the house. Even though she had to admit that they were strange, the explicit rules concerning expected conduct were cool looking hanging there against the naked bricks, and if nothing else a highly entertaining joke that never got old.

**_Use quarters only - no slugs!_ **

When Arnold was a toddler he slipped outside the boarding house without adult supervision and plucked snails with no shells off the brick stoop. Afterwards, he slipped back inside and shoved the helpless slick mollusks into the coin slots of the washer and dryer. In the end, Phil said that they popped out slick as a whistle because he used a flathead screwdriver to pry them out, and he didn’t have to clean the floor afterwards either because Abner gobbled up the bodies.

Phil meant the first rule as a joke, but when Oskar moved in, he left it up as a deterrent against theft of service. Helga reasoned that someone who was dishonest wasn’t going to obey the rules for the proper dispensing of monies into the washing machine anyway, so posting the rule was moot.

For a time, Oskar couldn't read that rule, so felt free to skirt it when possible, but even when he could read it after Arnold's tutelage, the ne'er do well didn't bother following it.

After the apartment fire the year she came "home", and the emergency move into the boarding house Arnold managed to talk her into that was supposed to be only a couple of weeks; that turned into a lifetime, Helga got sick of keeping rolls of quarters to wash both her car and clothes.

Doing so made Helga feel like she was a living in a no tell motel, and while she whored herself hawking hamburgers, and consumer goods; Phil was her pimp, waiting for his stipend of quarters earned from her jobs.

Buying a standard washer and dryer was one of the few changes she insisted they make to the laundry room when she and Arnold converted the Sunset Arms back into a family home, repurposing it from its earlier community service, a non-state funded, un-licensed home for the insane where the inmates were free to come and go as they pleased.

**_Fold socks - garters first_ **

Anyone with any sense would wash and dry garters separate, or at least in one of those little sheer cloth bags, because the elastic bands would wrap around everything and make a tight tangle of everything in the tumbler, therefore nothing would dry.

She honestly liked most of them, but Helga had to muse that after some time living with Arnold's extended "family" for a while, it was obvious that the word "sense" had no practical place in their everyday lives.

**_Clean lint trap at end of every cycle._ **

That was a no brainer, but sometimes people are lazy when given a chance, once again, Oskar Kokoshka sprang to mind, but also so did Arnold, and definitely her slightly miscreant son Miles for example.

Gertie might have also followed in her father and brother's example, but her saving grace was that ever since she was a child, Gertie liked dryer lint, and religiously cleaned the trap if nothing else to save and play with what came out of it.

Because of Gertie's enjoyment of lint, Arnold's cousin Arnie sprang to mind.

Due to the girl’s “lint lust”, much to her irritation, Arnold loved to joke about her having an affair with his interesting cousin. Helga laughed it off, but she would be telling a falsehood if she said she hadn't worried about some of Arnold’s family’s more quirky proclivities hopscotching into the kids’ genetic makeup via him.

With time and observation though, most of Helga's fears were allayed when she found Gertie didn’t like plain flavored gum, couldn't care less about reading ingredients printed on the backs of packages as long as the food inside tasted good, and with her difficulties comprehending higher mathematics, her daughter wasn't particularly gifted with counting things either.

If collecting lint and rendering first aid with toilet paper were Gertie's only eccentric vices, Helga figured she would be okay.

_**Wash sheets on Monday only! Go next door otherwise.** _

Helga cringed at the thought of washing anything at the house next door when she was paying rent to live there with Phil and Pookie. Nice people owned the place now, but the former residents were extremely loud, rude, nosy, and so nasty, that their cockroaches were forced to go outside for fresh air.

_**Riding in clothes dryer is forbidden without adult.** _

Helga never asked why that rule was instituted, and with some thought, was glad she never did.  
Neither of her children had ever tried to ride in the clothes dryer thank goodness, but Helga did catch Gertie in the process of trying to stick her elderly cat Jett in there when she was a toddler once.

_**Modern music is not allowed on Thursdays and Saturdays.** _

Once, Helga insouciantly asked Phil what he considered the definition of modern music to be, only partially interested in obeying the rule since she was caught disobeying it in the first place.

Out of deference for the aged man, she was required to listen to his discourse, but mainly asked because she was really bored and wanted to hear one of Phillip Shortman's famously long-winded, outrageous explanations.

Phil held that modern music was any composition performed after the days of his childhood with the exception of Dino Spumoni, and when the word funky had nothing to do with the definition of music, but existed only as the description of a bad smell.

When she underhandedly ragged on his age asking if was it okay for her to beat rocks together and grunt as a caveman might, or would that be too nostalgic for him; Phil refused to talk to Helga for three whole days, and part of a morning because of it which suited her just fine.

When the incident occurred, she was still angry with him because when she asked him for advice "for a friend" concerning a matter of the heart while he was mopping the kitchen floor, the old man in turn asked her to hold his mop for him, while acting like he was thinking of the perfect answer.

Instead of helping her figure out if it was morally bankrupt for "her friend" to be in love with someone she knew "at work" who was already sort of “involved” with someone else he seemed to be unhappy with, Phil ran away leaving her holding the mop, laughing like a maniac during his escape, the clever old fart.

She was a sucker for the trick only once, but the most hilarious thing about it was that Arnold still fell for it.

Actually, Helga didn't believe Arnold really fell for it at all, but enjoyed the nostalgia and simply went along. She believed that as much as he complained about the chore, Arnold must actually like to mop the kitchen floor for some strange reason, and if that was the case, she was more than willing to allow him to enjoy his guilty, unspoken pleasure.

_**Do not wash Fuzzy Slippers.** _

That rule was absolutely ridiculous because according to what she had heard from Gerald, and Monkeyman, the mysterious Hillwood City personage was much too fat to fit into a commercial the washing machine, much less one constructed for a private home in the first place.

_**No standing around in your birthday suit in order to wash everything.** _

Even though Grandma Gertie Shortman was the reason behind that rule in conjunction with the next rule on the list, Arnold took great pains to assure her that one commandment in particular did not apply to her whatsoever, and break it at every opportunity with his blessing.

The smartass also added that as a tenant she was required by law to caution him when she planned to break the rule as well so that he could observe.

Even though he wasn't present, Helga blew a hot breath out of her nose, and rolled her eyes because during her years of absence from Hillwood, somewhere along the line, her sweet, innocent, and naive Arnold had grown up and become a total horndog.

Helga thought with a wicked chuckle and smirk, that at least she, the former "it" girl, still had her "it".

_**Smoking permitted inside washer on rinse cycle** _

When she asked about that rule, Arnold tiptoed lightly around another incident that happened in the mid seventies centering around Gertrude the elder. In conjunction with the former, Abner, a hippie couple, and a gallon sized freezer bag full of weed was involved.

When she asked Phil about it, thinking he'd spill his guts on the details like usual, to her surprise he didn't say much of anything about it either except that he knew why pot was called shit, because that's exactly what the stinking plant smelled like while it was burning.

The clock on the wall checked Helga's reverie and it was almost time for the kids' curfew to end. If it were any other time, she would have sat down there in the dark basement she had snuck into God only knew how many times to retrieve some object connected to the partial owner of her heart, and enjoyed the peace.

Instead of allowing the relaxing sounds of sudsy water and clothes spinning in the washer to lull her to the point of sleep, Helga left for upstairs to turn on every exterior light at the house's disposal, and begin the nervous watch for her children to get home.

* * *

While Miles and Courtney waited for their food to arrive, they ate copious amounts of crispy noodles, trying not to look too piggish to the other; finally, the curious girl could no longer contain herself. "So," She raised her head at Miles' shirt with curiosity, hoping to learn more about the boy she found more interesting by the moment. "I had no idea that you were a Thundercats fan too."

Miles, who had forgotten what kind of shirt he had on other than it was black and smelled much better than the one he had on before, quit chewing his noodles and looked at Courtney like she had asked him to donate a kidney to her without anesthetic.

The ignorant boy didn't know much about the show except the basic premise of it that he had looked up on the internet, and the only reason why he had gone as far as that search was because Courtney revered the show, and he wanted to learn more about her by learning about it. Miles was going to tell the truth and say he didn't know that much about it, but seeking to ingratiate himself with the girl he was enamored with, foolishly, Miles blurted out without thought, "Are you kidding? I love Thundercats!"

The excited girl smiled and leaned forward in her chair, genuinely glad that they had another common interest. "Well, you know I have to ask you who your favorite character is now."

Miles who really should have known better, but too late to backtrack by then, he was stuck with a loaded question that he didn't have the answer to. In a desperation move, Miles said one of the only two character names he could think of, and the only reason why he remembered one was because she had rather large breasts. "I like Cheetara."

Courtney leaned back in her chair giving him a studious look, Miles was worried that she knew that he lied, but was relieved when she said, “Everybody likes Cheetara." Then she added cheerily, "My favorite character is Tygra."

With a fond tone of voice, Courtney recounted, "I watched the show when I was little with my dad, and as we did, we’d act out the shows while we were watching them."

Miles admitted with a smitten grin, "I bet that was cute."

Courtney rolled her eyes as she responded dryly, "Yeah, my mom thought it was real cute alright." Miles crooked his head as Courtney flung up a hand dramatically. "We'd turn her overpriced couch over, pretend it was the Thundertank and construct Cat's Lair out of the cushions. To top it off, we would wrap poor Consuela up in rolls of toilet paper and make her pretend to be Mumm-Ra the Ever Living.”

Miles' eyebrow twitched upwards as Courtney made a grandiose gesture with her arms. "By the time a twenty five minute episode was over, the entire living room was nearly demolished." Courtney shook her head with a grin. "I can't even begin to tell you how much stuff we broke until mom got fed up and quit putting anything in the den worth more than a few dollars. She‘d flip out at the messes we made, but I think she just acted like it made her mad."

By then Miles was laughing, and Courtney smiled warmly. "Sometimes after getting ready for bed, dad would give me candy or promise to buy some toy I wanted if I'd tell mom I was going to paint myself with tiger stripes, take the bus to the zoo, and free all the animals."

Miles' eyes were wide as Courtney guffawed and admitted rolling her eyes upwards at the outrageousness of it, "It used to drive her completely nuts!" She shrugged, "Most of those evenings would end with her shaking her finger at dad telling him that he was a bad influence on me and that he‘d be paying for her therapy and posting my bail when I was older." The thoughtful girl paused, "Either that or say that there was no way he could ever deny that I was his kid." She flung her head back laughing. "Daddy thought it was _absolutely hilarious_ too!" The girl informed with a satisfied looking grin, "Well, until I actually _tried_ to do what he had been suggesting for so long." Miles' eyebrow twitched as the girl sported a wide wicked smile and raised her right hand as a verification of glorious truth. "Mom and Consuela wanted to kill dad when they found me at the zoo gates, but it was the best night of my life, swear to God!" Noticing Miles' expression, the worried young woman hastily added with a grin, bordering on a flirt, okay, it was definitely a flirt, "Well, except for this one of course."

Miles shrugged, “Wish I could’ve gone with you.” Then his eyes widened and his upper lip rose in one corner as Courtney tore open five whole packets of sugar, gleefully dumping all of them out into her tiny cup of tea as she flicked them with her thumb.

At first Miles wondered if it were a mistake that she put so many packets in at once, but no one, not even a blind man with no fingers could make a mistake like that.

As Courtney stirred the sickeningly sweet solution with a wide soup spoon that barely fit into the small cup, Miles could have sworn the fluid in it had turned into syrup and wondered if she was really going to drink it.

Miles had to put his hand to his mouth to hide a grimace as the curious girl took a long drag out of the cup. Placing it down half full, Courtney observed, "My favorite episode of Thundercats is the five part Thundercats, Ho! Movie." As Courtney dumped another five packets of sugar into her cup and poured more tea into it, she checked Miles' cup for fullness and topped it off as she asked offhandedly, "So, what's your favorite?"

Miles fidgeted a bit then grabbed a small handful of noodles out of the bowl between them and stuck them in his mouth to stall in order to think of a good answer. As he did, the sharp corner of one of the noodles deeply penetrated the split in his lip.

Figuring that the pain was God's punishment for trying to win brownie points with his poorly planned lie, Miles answered, "Well," Desperately he thought back to his internet searches that were at best, like blurry memories from a dream. "I like the episode where Lion-O is in trouble, and then uses his sword to call all the other Thundercats to help him get out it."

Courtney raised an eyebrow in disbelief and knew that when she got home that night, she was going to get online and post Miles’ response in her favorite Thundercats fandom website, because never before had she ever heard all one hundred and thirty episodes of the cartoon so well described in one simple sentence.

At first, she thought Miles was making yet another clever joke, but then Courtney noticed his abashed smile and beads of sweat forming on his swelled forehead. From spending time observing the interesting boy, she recognized that when he smiled like that and looked embarrassed, he was caught doing something extremely silly, or engaging in some sort of falsehood.

Courtney also determined from Miles' guilty body language that if they ever went to Las Vegas for whatever reason, he wasn't going to be playing any form of poker with her money because his tells when in distress were blatantly obvious.

Instead of stringing him along, Courtney chuckled, took another sip of her over sweetened tea, and asked with surprising understanding, "You've never seen an episode of the show in your entire life have you?" Placing her elbow on the table, Courtney put her chin on her fist with a wry smile and could not wait to see if he told the truth or not.

Miles admitted looking upwards, "Well, I did a search on the characters, and I've seen the introduction animation." When Courtney looked to the side using only her eyes, the boy added hurriedly, "The metal guitar riffs in the end credits are the bomb, too!"

Courtney kind of chuckled, and unable to hold a grudge against the boy for fudging the truth a little, she nodded in agreement, "Yeah, I like those too."

Some people had laughed at Courtney when she told them what she wanted to do for a living; one had even gone a step forward and said she was a fool for it which was worse, because it was her own guidance counselor at school. The cautious girl took a sip of tea, decided to let Miles in a little deeper, went out on a limb and confided, "That's like my dream job."

Miles asked, "Playing guitar?"

Courtney chuckled at the boy whom she had determined to be even more excruciatingly cute if such a thing were possible. "No!" She took the last sip of tea from her cup and filled it again. "Scoring music for films, and television." She took another long swig from her cup and then placed it back down on the table.

Miles flattered, "I know you'd be really good at it." Courtney's pupils widened as the lovesick boy told the genuine truth as he saw it. "Sometimes I listen to you play classical compositions on the piano in the auditorium." He shrugged and said with a blush, "The one you wrote and performed for your mom's service was really pretty too."

Courtney thought she was alone for all of her auditorium solo concerts and was surprised that the enterprising boy had left out that piece of information from his love note, leaving her to wonder what else Miles knew about her that he had left out. "Thank you." She smiled, so glad that he didn't make her feel as if she needed to defend her passion like she had to with others. When Courtney extended her hand across the table, she almost touched his fingertips but drawing them back. Being truthful in nature, the smitten girl admitted, "That's kind of you to say, but in hindsight, it didn't do her any justice, really."

"How so?" Miles questioned, "It was wonderful."

Courtney's head shook, "That music was much too sad sounding to be my mother’s." The smile the girl had on her face while thinking of her mother was priceless, "Mom was a lively spirit and she would have been be more of a stylish disco bossa salsa nova with a good bass line strutting on high heels on the Champs Elysees; rather than a slow piano solo."

With a smile Miles mentioned, "My mom says she was like living lightning."

In a heartfelt manner, Courtney added, "Thank you for not being scared to mention her."  
Miles leaned forward as the grateful girl tilted her head, "Lots of people are afraid to say anything about her around me and dad because I think they‘re afraid that it would upset us." She genuinely smiled. "It's not that I don't appreciate people trying to spare our feelings, I really do, and it is true that the illness that took my mother's life was terrible, but that had nothing to do with the great person she was, and her illness should never ever take away from the memory of that." With a fond smile Courtney admitted, "It just feels so good to talk about her with someone, and to know that people still remember who she was before all of that happened."

Smiling warmly, Miles admitted, "I didn't know her that well, but I really wish I did. Mom and dad speak well of her.” Choosing not to mention his first and last lengthy conversation with Mrs. Gammelthorpe, Miles ended respectfully, “I think that she was kind, and a really neat person.”

The girl smiled even bigger, but Miles couldn't help but notice that her eyes were a little wetter looking than before when she added, "She really was, one of the best."

In that moment, Courtney remembered her wise mother's lucid conversation a few months ago with her about love cropping up in the most unexpected of places and the power of forgiveness in conjunction with the content of Miles' confessional letter she had read that day.

"Sometimes to love, Courtney, you must also forgive. Always remember that people change, and sometimes it is for the better."

Upon recalling the fine details of the priceless piece of paper lying folded in the shoebox in the back of her car, Courtney studied Miles; and realized who it was that Rhonda was referring to when they had their important talk.

Soon the girl cleared the lump in her throat and blinked her eyes to rid them of the beginnings of tears, and then she reverted to the earlier topic before she ruined the conversation. With a new determination, and caring smile, Courtney wondered, "I’ve already said what my plans are, so what do you want to do when you grow up, Shortman?"

Honestly, the boy replied with shame. "I don't know what I‘m going to do at all." Then Miles looked away suddenly feeling useless, not good enough for anyone, especially her, and wanted to leave. Courtney studied Miles' reaction with concern, wondering why he looked the way he did, wishing she hadn't mentioned it because he looked like he was in pain.

Miles looked down at his crumb covered plate and admitted, "My mom and dad are both famous." The boy looked up at the ceiling and saw gold phoenixes and dragons on every other tile staring back at him on squares of bright red trimmed with jade green in what looked like grim judgment. "My sister has her whole life planned out forty years in advance to the second." With more exasperation, Miles shook his head, "My genius best friend has tested out of his entire freshman year studies and some of his sophomore." Miles held up his hand and explained, "It’s not that I’m jealous of them or anything, I'm really happy for them." The boy sighed and admitted quietly, "It’s just that half the time I don't even know what I'm going to be doing the next day, much less for the rest of my life, and when people ask what my plans are, I just feel like some kind of a loser for not knowing like everyone else seems to."

In that moment of black contemplation of himself, Miles wondered if he really did belong in a stinky, sweat stained, electric yellow chicken suit, dancing around the devil that was his hateful employer until he could retire.

Throwing all her inhibitions out of the window, Courtney reached out and placed her warm fingers on top of Miles' hand while looking him straight in the eye. "Please don't talk about yourself like that!" Miles' eyes jerked up to meet Courtney's as she grasped his fingers firmly. "You are not a loser and there's no need for you to feel ashamed for not knowing what it is that you're going to do just now." With a small laugh she added, "The rest of your life is a long time, you know."

The girl gently patted the boy’s hand, and Miles stared at her in near disbelief while Courtney dictated sensibly, "Actually, I think it's extremely wise that you haven't decided what you want to do right off. A lot of people who are unsure change their majors a thousand times, and either go to college for five years or drop out of school all together because they're disillusioned over not doing what they want to."

Courtney released Miles' hand, and told what she felt to be true, "I think that people put too much stock in 'making something of themselves' or 'amounting to something'." The girl shook her head, "Not everyone in this world can be a doctor!" With a scoff, Courtney added as Miles' eyebrow rose at her obvious bitterness, "There's too many crooked investment bankers, and dishonest lawyers crawling the face of the earth as it is too!" Miles did a double take at the statement as Courtney added, "Just look at my dad, while it’s true that he does have a bachelor degree, he's a small business owner working in a field that had nothing to do with his major.” She nodded decidedly. “A lot of people would look down their nose at what he does for a living, but look at where he is now." Careful not to be boastful of her family’s wealth, she ended, "Dad has done pretty well for himself, and he’s the mayor of Hillwood City."

The girl offered, "It's really nice when people can make a lot of money and have what they want to be comfortable, but it seems more often than not people are compelled, no, forced to push, push, push since the day they were born to strive and try to reach some unattainable superiority instead of learning to be themselves first."

With a roll of her eyes Courtney added, "Once, parents allowed their kids to be children, but now it seems that they have them in college before they're out of diapers. When they get old enough, kids worry themselves to death about getting the best grades, and scoring high on discriminating standardized tests so they can graduate high school. That not being enough, they fret about getting into the 'right' college so they can earn a degree and get the right job, so they can make money, or earn advanced degrees; and make more money, just so they can use it to buy a pile of junk they don't really need and a house to stick it all in.

Most of the time people buy the stuff they do so that they can both feel fulfilled and justify trading all their dreams for the material stuff society; and commercials tell them they are supposed to want in the first place."

Miles' mouth was wide open, but Courtney continued despite her reservations and the look Miles had on his face. On a roll, she figured that he, like everyone else, probably thought she was crazy anyway, so she decided to go on ahead and validate those beliefs. "People worry so much about the future," The girl made quotation marks with her fingers, and said lowly, as if she were mocking an authority figure, "and getting 'left behind', that they don't even take time to think about later, and if they'll be happy then with the course of action they‘ve taken later on."

Then Courtney dropped the bombshell of her argument. "Whenever some of these people who have striven to make their place in a work world they didn't want to be a part of in the first place reach the zenith of their careers and retire, I'd be willing to bet that a lot of them look back at their lives with disappointment and regret. The first thing they probably say is, ‘I wish I had done that instead’.” Courtney ended with a point of her index finger, and then she flung up her hands. "Look at what unhappy career peoples' hobbies are, or what they like to do for fun and you'll see what they really wanted to do with their lives!" The girl observed, "It's a travesty."

Miles gazed Courtney, completely entranced at the earthshakingly obvious truth of what she just said to him.

The first of the week during their meeting, his guidance counselor flat out told him he was stupid for not having a career picked out and he better hurry before he became a complete and total loser with no hope of ever being successful in life.

After Courtney’s statements, with some thought, Miles had to surmise that his guidance counselor never seemed to be a happy man at any point through the four years he knew him, and actually seemed to be rather bitter.

Noticing she was studying his eyes with what seemed like worry, the only thing Miles could say in response to her ideas was, "You're a genius, Courtney, seriously."

Courtney exhaled a relieved breath, "I'm glad you weren't offended." With a blush, she admitted, "Sometimes I don't know when to be quiet."

Miles shook his head vigorously, "No, you're right!" Then he thought, "You sound like you speak from experience."

Courtney shook her head with great relief, "Oh no! Not from my experience, but my mother's." Grateful, she ended, "I have been so blessed to have parents who always told me that they wanted me to do what I wanted in life so I’d be happy, and that they'd support me no matter what." With a humorous lilt, she recounted one of her father's quotes, "Even if I wanted to sell banana sandwiches on the moon."

Miles shrugged, "I really don't know how viable that business would be, Courtney," The girl raised an eyebrow as he hastily added, "but it's nice that they appreciated your feelings and aspirations though." The boy said shyly, looking intermittently at the girl he loved and the crisp, white starched tablecloth, "I'd buy one of your lunar sandwiches."

Courtney wondered, "You have a rocket hidden in your pocket, Shortman?"

Settling down after laughing, Miles wondered why Courtney's face was red as a beet and why she was looking away from him. Miles admitted, "I just wish I had some kind of gift like my dad's writing abilities, Gertie's people skills, or my mom's," The boy shrugged, "everything."

Courtney recovered and said with a sly lilt, looking at him over the frames of her glasses with a squinted eye. "Well, now you're just being modest, Miles."

Clueless, and looking for ideas for a career path, Miles, who was completely confused asked, "What?"

The girl cast him a wary eye, "Oh, come off it, Shortman!" The boy's eyes widened when she declared, "I've seen your photos in the school paper and you've won the Hillwood Times student photography contest every year since you've been at Hillwood!" With a raised eyebrow, Courtney added, "You have a good eye for subjects, and you're different from a lot of photographers in that you don't really take pictures, as much as you create art.” She pointed towards him. “The quality of your work is so high that you could be a photographer for a newspaper or magazine right now."

The impressed girl recounted, "I remember that picture you took for the Earth Day edition of the school paper of the fighter jet flying over the abandoned Shell gas station on Sprague Street. The jet was your subject, but the rusted gas pump with the cut off hose was in the foreground, showing that no matter how advanced our technology got, it still ran on fuel made from goop millions of years old. It was brilliant."

The boy grinned, "It's just a hobby I enjoy." Miles thought about it for a moment, "I suppose I could become a photographer."

Courtney leaned forward. "You already are one!" The encouraging girl offered, "I also hear that you're a really good teacher too, because Mrs. Puryear has you teach freshmen and sophomore students after school in photography lab." The girl's face brightened, "I've heard students and Puryear herself, marvel over your patience and ability to teach people how to do things by doing." The girl raised an eyebrow. "As you well know, Mrs. Puryear just doesn't pass out compliments like mints to just anybody."

Miles looked across the table and thought of the best photo he ever got a chance to snap in his life, and how blessed he was to be sitting with his refreshingly optimistic subject instead of the seagull. Miles had to admit that in the space of a few minutes Courtney made him feel like a capable, talented individual instead of a complete and total dumbass. "I think you should be a guidance counselor, Courtney."

Courtney shook her head. "So I can spend my free time in the faculty room chain smoking, gossiping, and complaining about the crappiness of today’s mannerless, slacker youth?" With a cutting motion of her hands and arms, she ended emphatically, "No thank you!"

As he laughed, Courtney poured Miles another cup of steaming tea and then reached into her pocket for what she was sure was an unintentional inclusion in the cache of Miles' clandestine love of her. "I have something of yours I do believe, Mister Shortman." Miles watched in interest wondering what it could be as the girl rooted around in the pocket of her shorts for an extended length of time.

When she clasped her hand around all of it, the already loose object came apart again, and unable to secretly re-assemble it without looking like a nut, Courtney placed the pieces on the table in a heap and generously pushed them towards the boy. "I thought you might like to have this back because I know there's no way that you'd intentionally get rid of this."

Miles fingered the toy as if it were a foreign object, and even though he was all too familiar with it, in a shocked tone wondered, "How in the world did you get this, 'Court?" The girl smiled at Miles' familiarity in the form of her nickname. As the surprised boy deftly reconstructed the small toy, he recognized, "Oh, I know!" Miles said as if he was the dumbest human breathing on the face of the Earth. "I had all my mini figures out in the closet, and I must have accidentally tossed this in with everything else."

The boy quieted, placed the toy down on the table, and looked up at Courtney; in turn, her gorgeous grey green eyes were piercing his. The caught boy smiled, hoping to distract her mind from the shoebox full of Courtneyana he hastily flung together to prove his love to her. Clearing his throat, Miles asked, "Do you like it?"

Courtney smiled and said, "Wheeljack is one of my favorite Transformers characters."

Miles smiled, picked up the once again whole figure, and held it out for her in the flat of his palm. "Well, take him then, he's yours."

Courtney blushed, "I can't, it belongs to you." As an afterthought, “They’re so hard to find complete too.”

Philosophically the boy said, "You know, Courtney, there are no accidents in life." Then he ended charmingly. "I think that this figure was meant to be yours." Miles grinned with a deep red blush. "It really would mean a lot to me if you'd have it for your collection."

She could easily buy one for herself online with no problem, but that was a moot point because she had three mint on the card and one loose on display already. Courtney knew she should have insisted that the generous boy seated in front of her keep the figurine, but instead reached out to take it because she genuinely wanted it.

She didn't want the toy because it was her favorite Transformers character, that Wheeljack was her brother's middle name, or even that it had helped her decide to spend what had become a beautiful surprise evening with her secret crush. Courtney simply wanted the toy because it belonged to Miles and to have something of his meant that she had a tiny part of him to keep for herself.

As Courtney grasped the small toy, her fingers touched Miles' once again, but there was no hurry to relinquish contact, and she admitted, "You know, Miles, I think you're right. Thank you so much." She held it up and studied it in detail. "I promise I'll take good care of Wheeljack and put him in a special place." With admiration, Courtney pointed at the legs and chest of the toy, "I like the way you customized it with a little red paint. I never thought of doing that."

The boy smiled. "Yeah, I wanted it to look a little more like the 1984 Hasbro toy release rather than the generation one cartoon series."

Courtney looked up and asked, "Well I know you've seen Transformers for sure." Miles blushed when Courtney winked at him. "So who's your favorite character?"

Miles grinned. "Guess."

Courtney returned the facial gesture and ventured the theory, "I do believe you favor the tyrant lizard king Autobot that refers to himself repeatedly in first person, even more so than his subordinates do."

Flabbergasted, Miles asked, "How do you know I like Grimlock best?"

With a large amount of satisfaction the girl shrugged. "When we were little, your favorite dinosaur was the Tyrannosaurus rex." She recounted fondly, "You used to have a red iron on tee shirt with the dinosaur on it and you wore it almost everyday to pre-school." With a wide grin the clever girl added, "I don't even need to ask what your favorite episode is either."

Both said at the same time, "Grimlock's New Brain".

Courtney's hand was still resting on the table, so Miles took a daring risk, and asked coyly, in a deep flirting tenor, as he tickled her fingertips, "You seem to know an awful lot about me." With a grin, Miles wondered as he shyly tilted his head to the side, "Have you ever followed me around any, Miss Gammelthorpe?"

The girl remembered several instances of doing that very thing, both when she was a little kid, and much more recently.

Soon enough Courtney's mind settled on the last time she spied on Miles and the extremely interesting event she had born witness to. It happened in late summer before junior year on one of her affectionately termed 'missions' that made her vow that was the last time she'd ever do such a thing again.

As Miles studied her, the blushing girl's cheeks took on a fierce reddish tinge because she couldn't possibly assuage her activity away in her mind as an innocent accident, no, her role was much more active, not to mention guilty.

This fateful incident consisted of her temporarily overcoming her morbid fear of heights, scaling a rusty fire escape, and peering down into the sunroof of Miles' room close to midnight. She hadn't meant to invade Miles' privacy so deeply, or to stare at him in such a compromised state for so long, but she did, and Courtney had been unable to erase the details from her mind.

Not that she was _exactly_ in a _hurry_.

Ultimately, she felt so guilty over what she had witnessed to her surprised enjoyment, the next day after the incident, Courtney felt compelled to go to Reconciliation and confess her actions to a priest.

Since her sin wasn’t mortal, but venial in nature, as penance for her actions, Courtney said the Stations of the Cross ten times as her priest had prescribed.

The repentant girl also donated fifty dollars to the fund the church started to send Sister St. Ledger a vase of flowers after her super secret operation. No one was supposed to know what the procedure was for, but through the church’s gossip mill it became common knowledge that it was for the nun's painful and rumored to be, grape sized hemorrhoids.

Lastly, feeling that still wasn't enough, she also volunteered for the pre-school trip to Wanky Land that turned into a disaster of hellish proportions that Courtney was convinced it was punishment from God, even though things were supposed to be cool between them after confession.

As Courtney cleared her throat, stalling for a well-crafted lie to answer Miles’ question that she hadn't thought of yet, Park arrived at their table just in time to save her with a portable stand, and a large round tray, full to brimming with an impressive variety of food.

"Lady and gentleman." Park addressed with a sideways smile and wink as Courtney's head whipped upwards to look at him. "The staff of Fong Chung's is pleased to present to you for your dining pleasure, the Rhondurly Special." The man raised an eyebrow at the amount of food he struggled to place on the tray stand without spilling anything, and declared with a wink, "I tell you one thing kids, if you leave here hungry tonight, it's your own fault!"

As Park rose rounded metal lids that covered the assorted plates Courtney and Miles' eyes bulged at the amounts of delicious looking foods placed before them on the table as the heavenly scented steam wafted towards them from the entrees.

One plate was covered with lo mein filled with carrots, bamboo shoots, celery, mushrooms; and thinly sliced ears of baby corn. The other plate was piled high with batter-fried chicken that had been steeped in dark red sauce and garnished with tiny dried crimson chilies.

To the side was yet another full bowl of fried noodles, a small plate with two shrimp egg rolls on it and a large bowl full of light brown gravy with a tiny ladle dunked inside, and Park stirred the sauce with it one last time to get rid of a developing dark skin.

While he placed two sets of chopsticks, plates, and two glasses full of sweet iced tea down for the kids, Park said with a smile towards Courtney, "Vegetable lo mein, General Tso's chicken, two shrimp egg rolls, crispy noodles, and egg foo young gravy, just as you and your father like it, Fu."

Then Park presented Courtney with a small bowl of reddish looking oil, placing it to the right side of her plate with a polite bow but he did not give one to Miles. "You'll have to teach your friend how to eat this dish correctly I do believe, my dear Fu." After topping their glasses of iced tea off a last time and then leaving the pitcher, the kind man informed, "I'll be back in a little to see how you're doing, in the meantime, enjoy, and if you need anything, just whistle."

"It looks great, Park!" Miles assured.

"I'm sure it's delicious as always, Park, Thank you." Courtney said gratefully as he patted her shoulder and then walked away.

Contemplating the generous helpings of steaming food, Miles asked Courtney mischievously, "So, what are you going to eat?"

After a laugh and a shake of the head from the girl, she retorted, "That's funny, I was going to ask you the same thing."

Miles observed, "So this is called the Rhondurly special, huh?"

Courtney nodded, "It is indeed. Mom and dad ordered it so many times without fail over the years, that Park's father named this combination after them."

Miles leaned forward, "I gather from our kind host, that there's a special way that you put this together, so please show me how you and your father eat it."

Courtney held out her hand, and said with a wink, "If you'll hand me your plate, I'll fix it for you, and the quicker your tongue can go to heaven."

As she dished food onto his plate, trying desperately to make it look nice, she noticed that Miles wasn't paying any attention to anything else but her. It was kind of funny how Courtney felt at the moment, sort of maternal, a little wifely, it was all odd, but still overall a nice sensation.

Either way, the hopeless romantic that resided in her heart couldn't help but wonder if this were a date or not.

If it was, it was her first ever.

As Courtney handed Miles back his plate and he set it down before him, the sight was unique. The lo mein noodles were thickly smothered with brown egg foo young gravy, and there were fried noodles garnishing the top of it. The General Tso's chicken was to the other side of the small plate, and the round cut sections of shrimp egg roll she sliced for him served as a dividing line between the two. Miles who was a little taken aback by the strange amalgamation of the three dishes thrown together said a safe, "I've never had this combination before, but it looks good."

Courtney pulled her chopsticks out of the thin red wrapper that covered them, balled it up, and placed it to her side, "I know it looks like a wild tangle all thrown together, but wait until you taste it! The combination of sweet, salty, savory, hot, and the conflicting textures of soft and crispy are heavenly."

As Miles took his first bite of lo mein, his eyes lit up, then rolled upwards. "Oh, man! This is good!" Pointing with his chopsticks towards the delicious food, the impressed boy announced with a puffed cheek, "I'm definitely having this again!" Then he noticed Courtney giving a chunk of her red sauce covered chicken a sparing dunk into a small porcelain cup half filled with thin, but insidiously red looking oil by the side of her plate. In curiosity, Miles wondered, "What's that?"

Courtney shook her head. "Oh, I don't know if this is for you or not, Miles."

With what he felt was clearly a challenge, Miles rose an eyebrow at the clever girl who sat in front of him and assured as he leaned forward in his seat, "If you can handle it, I can handle it." The boy pointed at the small sauce covered peppers on his plate mingled amongst the chicken chunks. "I eat jalapeno peppers on nachos and wasabi with sushi all the time, how much worse could what you're using be?"

With a more serious tone, Courtney advised, "This is red pepper oil and it’s really hot, in fact it makes the jalapeno; and horseradish dressings you mentioned seem tame."

Miles asked, "Well, I'd still like to try it."

Courtney held up the tiny white ceramic cup, "Okay, but just take a little bit at first to see what its like."

Wanting to prove his mettle and impress the girl, Miles took up his chopsticks, selected a large piece of chicken off his plate, and drowned it in Courtney's cup.

With wide eyes and a shaking head, Courtney quickly warned, "Miles, that's too much." Instead of heeding the wiser girl's warning, Miles foolishly stuck the food into his mouth and began chewing. Courtney muttered to the table with her face in her hands, "Oh, God."

“You’ve just been pulling my leg.” In victory, Miles informed Courtney, "It's not even hot."

Courtney closed her eyes, put her glass of iced tea next to Miles' half-full glass, and admonished with a grimace as there was nothing she could do but watch the oral mayhem unfold. "This is a sneaky heat, Miles, and soon the liquid you will be drinking to get rid of the discomfort you will soon be experiencing will make it worse."

As the chicken clung to the back of his tongue and then slowly slid down his throat, what followed was a sensation Miles could easily describe as Satan grinding his wide, red razor spiked ass over his tongue.

To her credit, Courtney wasn’t laughing at him, but as his face became red, eyes watered, nose ran, and beads of sweat erupted on his forehead, Miles was forced to admit with his hand covering his mouth, "Okay, it is a little warm." As the heat level rose higher, he took a sip of his cool tea trying desperately not to look like he was about to die, even though that's how he felt.

"Miles, are you okay?" The girl asked with growing concern.

Choking on the fumes, Miles could only say, "How can you eat that stuff?" As Miles blew breath over his extended flaming tongue, and as Courtney fanned him with her napkin, the hot, sweaty boy said, "Give me mercy."

The girl joked, "I thought you were made of sterner stuff, Megatron." As Miles gave Courtney a look, he wiped his wet forehead as best he could without hurting it, blew his running nose, and then calmly placed Courtney's tea back in front of her after taking a sip. Taking pity, Courtney leaned forward and whispered, "Do you want me to get Park to bring you some ice cream? That'll help kill the heat of the pepper."

"No," Miles shook his head as he balled a fist to his chest and placed his own glass down heavily on the table while the oil torched it's way down his esophagus, performing what he was sure, the task of stripping away the protective lining of his stomach. "He'd never let me live it down."

Seeking to spare Miles' pride, she offered, "I could say it's for me."

Miles assured Courtney, not so sure of the validity of his statement, "Park would know better." Then he told an outright whopping lie, "It's okay, the burning is going away now."

Miles noticed she wasn't buying it, so he sought to distract himself from the pain in his mouth and gut, and Courtney from his uncomfortable state. "Since you made a reference, do you like the eighty six animated movie? It's kind of the dividing line for generation one Transformers fans on forums and fan sites," The boy shrugged, "People either tend to like it or hate it, there's no real in between, so how do you feel about it?"

Courtney continued to regard Miles with concern, but as he began to eat more food, she relaxed a bit and pondered his question, taking a small bite of egg roll. "When the script for the movie was being written the producers just thought they were clearing the way for Hasbro to introduce new additions to the toy line and get rid of the original nineteen eighty four and eighty five lines." With an interesting bit of trivia, she mentioned, "As a matter of fact, Hasbro insisted that Optimus Prime be killed."

Miles spat, "They did? How stupid was that!"

Courtney waved a hand, "Yeah, tell me about it, they wanted Sunbow to do the same thing with Duke from G.I. Joe in that movie too." Courtney smiled as she negotiated a particularly long noodle, finally giggling as Miles watched in rapt entertainment. "As far as the movie goes, the rating system used back then designated it a parental guidance rating, not because of the violence, but because of Spike's usage of the infamous word."

"A Gertie word?" Miles smiled.

Courtney laughed at the play on Gertrude's name with dirty, and then shook her head. "Yeah, but the movie to me is so shocking because of the large numbers of Autobot deaths that take place in the first twenty minutes of the movie. Not only Optimus Prime's demise, but also the shuttle scene with the supporting characters of the original cast, like Prowl, Ironhide, Brawn, and Ratchet getting blown to bits."

Miles shook his head, gave in, and drank some more of Courtney's tea, desperately trying not to hog it all. "I was kind of surprised at how brutal the shuttle scene is too, the battle didn't last long at all either, and the Autobots who seemed to be the toughest; like Ironhide, and Brawn, went down much too easily for my taste."

Courtney shrugged, "I agree with you there, it wasn't very realistic, but I suppose the writers did that because of time restraints and to set the stage for the movie, showing the viewer that the Decepticons were more ruthless, and a much larger threat than ever before." Miles nodded as Courtney pushed her glass back to Miles. "The biggest mistake that Hasbro made with Optimus Prime is that they failed to realize that in the time between the first episode of Transformers and the movie, 'Prime became an icon, and he wasn't simply a toy anymore, but a symbol and hero to a lot of kids." The girl thought of her rabid fanboy Transformer geek father and added, "Adults too."

"Do you agree with Optimus' death?" The boy asked as he enjoyed the relief of cold liquid soothing his settling palate.

Miles smiled as Courtney took the glass he drank out of back, and sipped from it, seriously pondering. "You're going to think I'm nuts," The boy smiled, and Courtney cautioned with a point of her finger, "Don't say it!" He chuckled as she continued, "But, yes, Optimus Prime's death was necessary, and extremely important if you really think about it. The character dying is what has helped give the movie its enduring quality in popular culture and made people remember it. The movie wasn't even made in our generation, its over thirty years old, and yet here we sit over Chinese and good company dissecting its minutia as if it were a brand new concept." She shrugged. "Besides, a lot of the later Transformers episodes spun off of the movie. If it were not for the movie, we would not have had the knowledge of the Autobot Matrix of Leadership, which was an important plot device for several later episodes of the cartoon."

Miles had to concur, "I never really thought about it that way before, but you're right, Dark Awakening, The Five Faces of Darkness, and The Return of Optimus Prime could not have been made without the death of 'Prime, and those are some of the best multi-part episodes out of the entire series."

Courtney raised her chopsticks with a point at Miles. "If Optimus had lived, and Megatron had not been re-formatted by Unicron, there would have been the same old plotlines repeated but in a different scenario, and they were pretty good at doing that to begin with."

Miles nodded. "Decepticons steal energy to make energon, Autobots try to stop it, and Spike gets in the way. Autobots can't stop Decepticons without harming annoying Spike; Bumblebee tries to save annoying Spike and makes things worse. Finally the Autobots save both annoying Spike and annoying Bumblebee, in the process defeating the new Decepticon combiner that you'll only see once or twice that there's a toy of."

Courtney quit eating and guffawed, "Precisely!" She pointed her chopsticks at Miles, "You can use that same formula with Daniel and Wheelie."

Miles shook his head, "Oh, no, those two are in a class all to themselves." The smiling boy slurped down a mile long strand of gravy-coated noodle and wondered, "What ticks you off the most about the movie?"

Courtney swiped Miles' chin with a fresh napkin and admitted, "The only thing that I didn't think was fair about the movie was that the Autobots got wiped out, but Unicron re-formatted Megatron into Galvatron, and his underlings the Insecticons, Skywarp and Thundercracker got to become Cyclonus, Scourge, Cyclonus' armada and the Sweeps."

Miles nodded, adding in irritation, "They killed Starscream too!"

"I know!” Courtney said with consternation. “He was the best Autobot ever!" Courtney grinned at Miles' expression, and did a bad imitation of the robot's whiny voice, "Who interrupts my coronation?"

Miles laughed, and growled performing an extremely bad imitation of Galvatron, "Coronation? This is bad comedy!"

"Megatron, is that you?" Courtney guffawed.

Miles growled in a passing attempt at Galvatron's deep threatening voice, "Here's a hint!"

Miles made an explosion noise; the two laughed, pointed to each other in friendship across the table, and finished their meal talking about cars, cats, and where to get good deals on vintage used toys; and parts.

* * *

They had been saying goodbye for the last thirty minutes, and only made it as far as outside the front door.

While crickets chirped, invisible cicadas sang, and silent beige moths darted around the yellowish porch lights, and them; the young couple tried to pry themselves from one another as painlessly as possible.

"I know you have to; I just wish you didn't have to go, 'Gert." The boy admitted with a lowered head, and raised half-lidded eyes into hers that made the lovesick girl want to give in and stay just a little longer. She could have melted into a warm puddle right there on the red brick steps on top of the well-worn black rubber welcome mat as he leaned forward and raised his hand to gently touch her cheek with the backs of his gentle warm fingers.

With a sigh, Gertie shook her head negatively with a sideways smile at the sweet sentiment. "I know, 'K, and if it were any other time I'd stay until you threw me out." Kyo grinned, and so did Gertie because both knew that would never happen. She added with a down tone every bit as sad as Kyo's face, "But, I really should get in a little early tonight and turn in. I need to get some rest so I can help Miles paint the fence."

With caution, the wise girl also added, "Being home late in lieu of everything that transpired today will exacerbate the trouble I'm in as well, and I think it would be a nice gesture to get in early to show how truly penitent I am."

Kyo joked, "You been readin' a dictionary, Miss Shortman?" After Gertie gave him an admonishing look, he wondered, "How long do you think it'll take you two to paint the fence?” Then said with heartfelt regret, “I wish I could help you."

Gertie looked upwards, "I do too, actually, but it won't be that bad, it'll probably take a day, two at the most to a really good job." The pondering girl added matter of fact, "Miles will probably do half ass job in a hurry to get done, so I'll have to go over the patches he missed so our parents won't get mad."

Kyo looked to the side, "When do you think I can come over?" He added politely, "I don't want you to get in more trouble over me disobeying the terms of your punishment." Abashedly he admitted, "I just want to see you as soon as I can."

Gertie grinned, and touched Kyo's chin with her finger, "I promise the second we get that fence stained you'll be the first to know." The clever girl looked upwards, and Kyo smiled when she said, "You'll probably get a phone call tomorrow night."

Kyo thought of a lovely loophole in regards to the punishment and then the crafty boy smiled, "Will you miss me, Shortman?"

Gertie rolled her eyes, and said in exasperation, "It's not like I'm leaving the country, 'K, Miles and I are just grounded until we get the fence stained."

Kyo insisted like a child wanting to know if he was loved or not, "Will you miss me?"

With a deep crimson decorated face, Gertie admitted truthfully, with a whisper into his ear and a gentle brush of his cheek with her fingers, "I miss you already." As a serious look decorated the teens' faces, once again their lips met for a kiss. "I really do have to go now."

With a sigh, Kyo followed Gertie to her car, and opened the door for her to get in. "Be careful, okay?"

With a funny face, Gertie sat down into the beaten blue vehicle, and pulled her legs in as Kyo shut the door. "I'll try." Gertie inserted her key into the ignition, turned it, and the six-cylinder engine sputtered to life. "Honestly, 'K, what kind of trouble can I get into going home?" Kyo looked upwards and began to mention one of the many instances of such but Gertie held up her index finger with the warning, "Don't say it."

Kyo looked upwards, then bent down into the window and said lovingly, "I'll see you later."

Gertie pulled on her seat belt and pointed at the boy, "Not if I see you first." After the last goodbye kiss of many, Gertie admitted, "I love you."

The boy smiled, "I know." Gertie grinned widely as Kyo took a step back and his girlfriend pulled away from him. As the boy watched the taillights of the car disappear down the street, he sighed, but when he turned, Kyo noticed the gate to the back yard fence was open, and saw papers strewn on the grass.

Finding it odd since it wasn‘t there earlier in the evening, Kyo walked towards the backyard, and his wide-open eyes were greeted with the last thing he wanted to see at almost Midnight, or any other time. "What the?" The boy demanded the open air as he kicked a dirty discarded cup from the picnic away from his toe.

As he looked around in disgust, Kyo found that all of the trash from the cans was strewn all over the yard. Along with the wet paper plates, bones, crusty plastic utensils, and the thin, half-burned paper tablecloth from the singed picnic table, the two large black garbage bags that contained all of those contents were there as well, except now they were torn into tiny bits that looked like oversized confetti.

As the angry boy took in the sight of the disgusting devastation, two black and tan streaks ran past Kyo with their tails tucked between their legs, each carrying one rib bone apiece in their mouths. After spinning in place, and a little better inspection, Kyo saw it was their neighbors' pet German shepherds running from the scene of their crime.

In complete and total irritation, but with a kicking motion of his foot and leg he knew wouldn't connect by design, Kyo angrily yelled, "Darkslayer, Destroyer, get outta' here! SHOO!" The boy noticed that the gallon of mayonnaise had been dragged out of the turned over trash can and opened too.

Hoping the two greedy dogs got sick from the bad mayonnaise, and took a long, luxurious greasy barf on their neighbor’s living room carpet, Kyo spied a box of black garbage bags that he was sure he had taken into the house when he cleaned up the first time when he had help. Kyo yanked one out, glared through the empty kitchen window, and began the odious task of cleaning up after the family picnic a second time.

* * *

After finishing the clean up, Kyo walked inside to find his father eating a six-inch high sandwich that appeared to be manufactured with glacial till and used potato salad as cement. Even though Gerald fully well knew, he pleaded innocence and asked, "What were you doing out there, Son?"

Kyo, who had seen his father's movements in the kitchen the entire time he was picking up, washed his stinking, dirty, sticky hands that were tainted with a conglomeration of soda syrup, barbecue sauce, and dog slobber. With a voice mostly devoid of humor, Kyo informed his father dryly, "You owe me one, Dad." Kyo thought a moment and amended his statement. "A great big one."

Fully busted, and a little shamed, the loving father shrugged. "You're right, 'K, I'll make good on it, I promise." As Gerald silently offered his beloved child half of his ham, chicken, deviled egg, potato salad and rib meat sandwich, but Kyo heartily refused with a scrunched up nose and shaking head. The food looked nauseating piled together on condiment impregnated bread, and he wouldn’t eat it if he were about to starve. Gerald wondered, "So, what's the situation with you and the Shortman now?" Kyo's squinting grimace at his father's disgusting food cracked into a wide happy grin that could make a bi-polar disorder sufferer's head swim. "That good, huh?"

With lightness in his heart that he never thought he would feel, Kyo informed, "I love her, Dad." The boy admitted with a larger grin if it were possible, "She loves me back too."

Gerald nodded, but not wanting to ruin the moment for Kyo with the talk he promised Phoebe he'd have with him, the considerate father wondered, "So, what are you doing tomorrow afternoon, Kiddo?"

Kyo shrugged, and thought of his earlier idea, "I don't have any major plans, I don't go to work tomorrow," Gerald couldn't help but notice Kyo's unhappy tone. "But Gertie's grounded so I can't go see her either."

With a hearty pat on the back, Gerald assured, "Don’t worry, son, you'll be with your girl soon enough." Thinking of his wife's suggestion, Gerald's mind turned, knowing he would never have a better opportunity than when they were in the boat, and that Kyo couldn‘t get away. "Well since you've got no plans, and your mom is taking JJ grocery shopping with her tomorrow afternoon, you wanna' go fishing with your old man?" With a wicked grin he added, "We'll grab an early lunch at Iver's for some fish and chips and then try to catch Big Caesar." With a prideful smile Gerald added, "I have a MacGregor triple spoon rebel yell glowing beauty wiggle worm I've been dying to try out and there's going to be no better time to than tomorrow."

Kyo shook his head. “Sure, Dad, but, you'll never convince me in a million years that you and Uncle Arnold actually caught Big Caesar."

With a sigh Gerald flung up his hands, "Okay, I won't try to convince you, but Arnold knows we did, and I know we did, so that's all that matters."

Kyo got up from the table and patted his father on the shoulder, and added with rolled, misbelieving eyes, "Sure, you and Arnold caught Big Caesar." The boy got up and wondered, "What time should I be ready to roll?"

Gerald thought cleverly, "Well, your mom and I are sleeping in, so let's make it ten thirty."

Kyo patted his dad's back, "Gotcha'." Then the boy thought, "I have something I need to do in the morning anyway so that'll give me time to get it done.

The curious father wondered, "I thought you didn't have any plans."

Kyo blushed and Gerald's eyebrow rose, "Well, I don't exactly, but I want to run down to town first thing, y’know, to take care of something."

Considerately, figuring that his parents were going to be occupied, Kyo added, "If you two don’t mind, I’ll take JJ with me and we’ll get some pancakes for breakfast so you and mom won't have to worry about him getting him fed, and I’ll keep him entertained for awhile." Kyo assured, “I won’t be late for our outing though."

With a smile Gerald simply said, "JJ will love that, and you know I wouldn't leave without you anyway.” Grateful for his boy, the caring father slapped Kyo's open palm. "Before you go, remember to get some money out of the cookie jar for chow, okay?”

Grateful, Kyo nodded, “Thanks, dad.”

Gerald nodded, “Okay, now go and get some shut eye, you've had a long day."

"'Night." Kyo said with a smile as he left the kitchen, but then the mischievous boy turned and asked, "You know, Dad, I was thinking, and instead of a canoe, for a change, how about renting a swan boat?"

“Get outta’ here!” Gerald reached into the open bag of sandwich sliced bread, got the heel out, and playfully threw it at his son as he scrambled away laughing.

With a sigh, glad that Gertie was finally romantically attached to their son, Gerald picked up his unwieldy sandwich and took a bite. The only thing he got into his mouth to chew was bread though, because everything else dropped to the table, onto his robe, and down to the floor Phoebe had just mopped.

“Man!” Gerald said in complaint as he rose from his seat to get a damp paper towel to clean his mess up with, fully rewarded by karma.

* * *

As Gertie drove, she checked her watch, knowing better than to take the main streets because they were probably packed with people going to the local bars and restaurants.

After a few minutes of careful navigation through the meandering narrow streets and dark back alley shortcuts that supposedly took more time to drive according to anyone who ever rode with her, in the distance, Gertie finally saw her house.

At least Gertie thought that it was her house because of the bright light from two blocks over illuminating it.

* * *

Meanwhile, Helga stood in the living room intermittently looking out the front window for her children and watching Gertie's cat in the foyer indulging in a natural instinct that she found highly distasteful. With a face, Helga dryly admonished the cat as it held its hind leg up in the air, with all of her toes fanned out, vigorously licking a specific part of her anatomy with enthusiasm, "I swear, Chewie, you’re constantly licking it, does your butt taste like chicken?"

She thought Arnold was in his study writing, but when a half joking, half-serious, "Ewwww! That's nasty, Helga!" Came out of the kitchen, she walked towards the kitchen door to peer inside. When she did, Helga gave her greedy, evidentially malnourished husband a look as she leaned in the doorway watching him with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms.

"What?" He asked with a full mouth in a fashion that sounded persecuted as he put a fork down next to another slice of cake. Arnold swallowed and admonished, "Don't look at me like that, Pataki!"

"My last name is Shortman, Arnold, s-h-o-r-t-m-a-n." Helga dictated with mild irritation.

With a dismissing tone of voice, Arnold said with a gruffly full mouth, "I know how to spell, Pataki." As Helga gritted her teeth and growled with a squinted an eye in frustration with him, Arnold swallowed his bite; and pointed to the entire compliment of floodlights turned on outside the kitchen window. "Did we have a breakout, Warden?" Helga stepped into the kitchen as Arnold waited for his wife's response so he could both get her mind off his fourth midnight snack of the evening, and judge her willingness to be screwed around with.

Ignoring it for the moment, Helga said, "No, the lights are on for the safety of our children." Knowing what the question was, a segue into another lecture about their power bill that was no more high than anyone else's, Helga derailed the topic with an artful digression. "Maybe we could save money on the electric bill by you not opening the refrigerator door so many times." Arnold cut Helga a look. "How many slices of that cake have you had tonight, Arnoldo?" Incredulously she observed, "That whole big cake is almost gone!"

"That whole big cake is not almost gone, Dear!" Arnold defended himself, "I also didn't eat it all by myself either!"

Helga cocked her head as she began to say something, but Arnold cleverly added, "You and Miles ate a piece at dinner each, Gertie ate," The man caught himself before he ratted out his daughter's pre-dinner slice. Of course it was a mere a happy accident that he was also protecting himself as well with his white lie, "A piece at dinner too."

Helga already knew Arnold slipped a slice up to Gertie that afternoon for his creative talk about love and ate one himself as the mischievous man added with a wide wicked grin. "Lest we forget, dearest, you also gave a gigantic double slice of my cake to that roof hopping vigilante I think you've been crushing on behind my back." With a false frown Arnold ended, “You also let him drink out of my favorite coffee mug too! What’s up with that?”

With an exasperated sigh Helga said, "There's nothing going on there, Arnold, and you know it!" The woman flung up her hands and asked as she blushed, "Will you drop it? Please?"

Arnold cleverly sidled up to Helga, and said in a low, seductive voice, "Believe me, Pop Tart, I know you're really not having an affair with him," As Arnold's arms wrapped around her from behind, and his warm breath tickled her ear lobe, the man chuffed, "after me, you're spoiled for any other man." With a grin, Arnold added nonchalantly, "Besides, we all know that you're really hot for Mr. Cashwell, because you’ve been seducing him behind my back."

"I ought to slap you for that, Arnold, I really should." Helga said with genuine irritation.

Grinning, Arnold mentioned as he wound his arms around her waist and kissed her neck as he mumbled into it. "I'm glad that prick wasn't here tonight, or you would have probably given him a slice of my beautiful delicious cake too."

Rolling her eyes, and trying to be serious, Helga sighed and waved her hands dismissively, "Alright, the kids will be home soon, so playtime’s over, Scud."

"I want do-overs!" Arnold whispered with a playful whine as he tickled her sides, and in turn, Helga put on a scowl trying desperately not to burst out in laughter, which was what he wanted in the first place.

Her adamant stance finally broken, Helga shook with silent laughter as Arnold added, "You also helped me eat two slices of cake after you got some of the best lovin' you ever got in your life, Lady!" Arnold winked at his wife in the reflection of the microwave, and then kissed her, which left some whipped topping on her cheek.

Helga rolled her eyes, swiped her face, and spun in his arms as she observed with a playfully pointed index finger at him, "Lest you forget, you also ate most of those pieces too." She sighed, and playfully poked his stomach, "You know, it's a funny thing everything that's happened tonight has revolved around your precious little cake. If I ate as much as you did tonight, my ass would be the size of Wild Man Willie's horse barn!" Arnold laughed at Helga's mention of her certifiably insane, but wholly loveable oldies station owning, record spinning disc jockey stepfather in South Dakota. With disgust, Helga admitted, "I wish I knew your secret." She flung up a hand, "I don't see how you keep from getting fat, you eat just like Abner!"

Arnold retorted with a smirk as he patted his taught stomach, "Fuel tank for the love machine, baby, and it needs to be kept full!"

"Oh, your tank is full alright, Arnoldo, but not of cake." Helga looked to her side with a forceful blow of air from her nose, and refusing to feed his ego, she asked, "When did you get so cheesy?"

"Tonight." Arnold released her, and looked down at his stomach, as he remarked, "And I'm not fat, Pop Tart." The ridiculous man took down a decorative copper plated skillet from the wall, and acted as if he were admiring his tight bottom. "I think I look pretty damn good for my age!"

Helga blew a hot long sigh out of the core of her being, and explained, "I didn't say you were fat, Arnold, I said I don't see how you keep from getting fat."

Arnold looked at himself again, "Do you think I'm fat?"

Helga rolled her eyes with exasperation, "Hell no! I did I say that I thought you were fat?"

"If you think I'm fat just say so," Acting as if he were hurt, Arnold added, "I can take it." The silly acting man waved his hand away from himself, then crossed his arms speaking to the ceiling, "I'd rather you just say it, rather than keep it all inside and be disgusted with me in bed and junk."

"God, Arnold, just go away. You are so on my nerves right now!" Helga said in exasperation as she gave her husband a look. He snatched her towards him by the arms, and secured her against him as she admonished, "Oh, no you don't!"

"What?" Arnold chortled wickedly, and growled into her neck.

Pushing him away, Helga observed, "You do this to me every Friday night!"

Innocently Arnold asked, "Do what?"

She huffed with a point, "You know exactly what!" Arnold looked up when Helga added, "Cranking up some silly fight for,"

Arnold cut Helga off with a loud sloppy kiss, and then pulled away shaking his head saying with a naughty tone, "I'll keep doing it as long as you keep falling for it."

"I didn't fall for it!" Helga snarled.

"What does a man have to do to get some love around here?" The annoying man asked with a pout as Helga broke free of his bonds.

"Here's some love for you, Head Boy!" Arnold cackled like a lunatic as Helga stormed out of the kitchen giving him the finger behind herself.

"Well that's not a very nice thing to do to the man who loves you enough to give you some of his cake!" In retaliation, Arnold ran over and latched onto Helga's waist, wrapping both his arms around her holding her tightly as he dragged her back into the kitchen against her will. "Gosh you're such a naughty, nasty, ungrateful little girl!" He added humorously, “Is your unibrow growing back, Pataki?”

Disregarding the mention of the caterpillar that once flourished above her eyes, she growled, "Will you knock it off?" Helga struggled, turned in Arnold's arms, and began to push against his chest. "That's it!" She hissed as she struggled, and he chortled. "You are not allowed to buy another one of those cakes again!" With genuine irritation, Helga fumed, and gently popped his arm with her hand. "All those food additives and sugar is making you act nuts!"

Arnold retorted, "You know you should never hit a crazy person." Helga's eyes rolled upwards as his twenty-four hours to live came back to haunt her once again. Her ire nothing more than an invitation to continue, Arnold flirted, "You're so beautiful when you're angry, do you know that, Pop Tart?"

Helga quit trying to escape his clutches, and spat, "I'm quickly becoming drop dead gorgeous, now let me go!"

"Oh no, Mrs. Shortman, it's a challenge now, and you know how much I like a challenge." Arnold answered as he leaned down to give her kisses on the neck as he mumbled while tightening his grip, "My goodness, wearing you down is gonna' be fun."

Arnold did something innovative, something Helga rather liked actually, and she pushed his roving hand away as she blurted out with an incredulous laugh, "Now stop that! I'm not kidding!" Helga turned his half lidded his gaze towards the wall as she pointed to the clock behind her, but began to giggle as Arnold continued tickling her, "Now, the kids will be home soon," Helga tried to put the palm of her hand on his kissing lips. "I don't want them to see what a dirty, filthy, sick, twisted little monkey their father really is!"

Arnold sighed into Helga's tender neck, "Again with the monkeys, woman, what is it with you and monkeys, I ask?” He cocked his head and squinted an eye at her, “You sure you and the Monkeyman and you don't have a thing going on?"

Helga would have said something as she tried to use her hands as leverage against his chest to break his hold on her, but instead he picked her up and sat her down on the cold granite tabletop making her yelp, "That's cold!"

Arnold grinned and was opening his mouth to say something, but Helga warned, "Don't you dare say it!"

Arnold did anyway. "Its room temperature."

"I hate you, Mister Wizard." Arnold blew his lips on her neck making a raspberry. "Stop that!" As she squirmed, she added while giggling, "I mean it, it tickles!" Unable to keep the pretense of anger any longer, Helga began to chortle loudly wrapping her legs around his waist, even going so far as to snort as Arnold laughed while kissing her neck and giving playful nibbles here and there as he made barking noises into her bosom.

Helga began slapping Arnold's back making further false protests against his actions, as he growled, "Don't act like you don't want it, Doctor Love!"

* * *

Pulling into the driveway and glad she didn’t have to pay the power bill, Gertie sighed. True to her mother's usual over-preparation/protection, born from her motherly fears; the Shortman house was a nearly blinding, twinkling beacon, not unlike a Christmas tree full of brightly lit light strings that had been set on fire.

Studying the overt display of concern, Gertie promised that if she ever became a mother, she wouldn’t go to the extremes that hers did.

As she pulled up to the garage that was already open in anticipation of her return, the glint of the chrome grille of the Packard, and the shiny red paint of Jett greeted her home, and seemed to wink at her in naughty knowledge of her activities with Kyo.

Thinking of such, the girl checked her watch wondering if she were back too soon, but it had been nearly four and a half hours since she had left home. The flood lights were on, which meant her well-meaning mother had thought to do it, and surely her parents had...finished...their conversation by now.

Truth be known, her mom and dad were probably sitting in the living room right at that moment arguing about something absolutely crazy while they waited up for her and Miles, like what hot dog wieners were really made of, and if Abner really was capable of turning the basement light on and off with any of his cloven hooves.

Not wanting to stand outside and be ambrosia for the last of the season's greedy mosquitoes, Gertie opened the fence door, and strode up the steps towards the kitchen door.

As she did, Gertie thought that a piece of that black forest cake would taste really good right then as she turned the kitchen doorknob to step inside.

As Helga chortled slapping Arnold's back and her husband in turn crammed his face into her covered cleavage while laughing like a madman, neither of the cheerfully occupied adults heard the kitchen door open, or so much as noticed that they were no longer alone.

As the teenager who discovered she was home much too early studied her parents with wide eyes and upturned eyebrows, she had to think that she was by no means prudish by any stretch of the imagination.

Gertie enjoyed telling dirty jokes and she purposely used language that would make a drunken sailor on shore leave blush for the mere shock of it. In addition, Gertrude adored smutty romance novels, absolutely loved reading raunchy fan fiction lemons, and had just finished spending the past hour discovering out just how good Kyo Johannsen’s tongue tasted.

Not a clueless little kid anymore, Gertrude knew that her parents had sex to create she and her brother, and were definitely still intimate if any of the two a.m. wake up calls she had inadvertently got through the walls of her bedroom were any indication, but none of that disgusted her at all, really.

Actually, Gertie was glad that her parents were happy together and still in what she had come to call, "romantic" love, but still, when the sight that greeted the girl's eyes registered, it was still embarrassing enough, and her face was bright red.

When they noticed their daughter's presence, Arnold and Helga instantly separated, but before either parent had a chance to speak, fully realizing that there was no pretense or slick lie to cover their activity prior to her arrival, they both wisely chose to plead the Fifth Amendment; and said nothing incriminating.

Mature beyond her years and more tactful than she would lead anyone to believe, Gertie made a generous offer as she pointed in behind herself. "I-I'm sorry, I know I'm home," She looked at the clock on the wall and held her index finger and thumb close together, "A little earlier than you expected," Gertie paused and chose to not look into their eyes, to spare them all more embarrassment. "Um, so I'm gonna' go to the garage and get the fence staining crap ready for tomorrow," Gertie looked down at Abner who was pawing her naked leg wanting attention, and a tasty handout, "or something, excuse me, please."

Before Gertie could turn around, Helga asked as if nothing happened, "How was the picnic?"

Glad to have been distracted, Gertie said haltingly while still blushing, "Well, I, it was good." She looked up as her parents straightened their clothing, then thought of Kyo with a grin. "Yep, it was pretty dang good!"

Arnold and Helga both rose an eyebrow at their child as Gertie added, "Phoebe said thanks for," Helga made a cutting motion across her neck before Arnold turned to glare at her, "Ah, letting me go to the picnic too, because she didn't want a bunch of leftovers to have to eat for weeks." The girl added in a nervous tone and a point of her finger at her parents, "So thank you from Phoebe there, for that."

Arnold squinted an eye at his daughter and feared for her future career as an attorney at law because Gertie was a terrible liar.

The blushing girl then turned to Helga who was innocently studying her nails, which was one of her tactics to skirt around a falsehood by denying eye contact. Arnold observed, "I doubt that was an issue with Jamie-O, Peyton, Orrell, and Johnson there to suck down everything in sight." His daughter's response was to sort of grin with ad half-hearted shrug, and Arnold determined that Gertie's mannerisms were more like his when he was caught doing something that skirted the lines of naughty.

Gertie changed the subject that was moving dangerously close to the topic of her father's missing gallon of mayonnaise. "Timberly asked me to tell you both hello too."

Arnold, who dropped the mayonnaise question completely, asked, "How's she doing now?"

As Gertie equated Timberly's pregnancy size to a house, Helga walked over to the kitchen window and looked outside with concern. "What in the world is your brother doing? He should be in here by now."

Gertie grinned as she raised an index finger, "Now that's an interesting story!" Arnold and Helga's eyebrows went up, "You see, Kyo went to Courtney Gammelthorpe's job this afternoon and invited her to the picnic too, but when she got off work and was driving to Kyo's, her car stopped running. It was really lucky it happened when it did, because after Kyo picked me up from work, it had just happened, so we ran into Courtney running to Kyo's house with ice cream."

Gertie felt that her parents were looking at her much too strangely, so she cleared up her statement. "We didn't actually hit Courtney with the car mind you, because that would be bad," Arnold laughed like a maniac at Helga's expression and his daughter's explanation, as the girl continued, "We saw, and picked Courtney up, because her car quit running for some reason." Gertie moved her hands to the side with a smile, "Then after the barbecue, Miles walked back to Courtney's car with her to try and start it, and to make sure that she was safe because we all know how much he can't stand that girl and all."

Helga checked out the window one last time and threatened, "Well it's almost time for him to be home and he better call if he's going to be late, that's all I have to say." Then she turned to Gertie, "You need to get some rest, young lady!"

Arnold looked at Gertie, "Did you win the football game for your team?"

Helga rolled her eyes and begged forcefully, "Please tell me that you didn't play with those crazy elephants with your hand the way it is!" As Helga studied the swelled appendage in her hand, she added with concern as it looked more swollen than it did when she left earlier in the evening, "Does it hurt?"

Gertie looked at it, "My hand hurts a little, but it's not too bad, I think I'll live." Helga examined Gertie's eyes and knew that if she actually admitted that something hurt, it was bound to be killing her. The girl directed her attention to her father, "I was going to play football with everyone but Phoebe wouldn't let me though; she made me sit in time out, and Kyo put ice on my hand."

Arnold laughed as Helga said, "Why will you listen to Phoebe and Kyo, but not me?"

Gertie defended, "I do listen to you!"

Helga flung up her hands, "Please remind me to call your auntie Phoebes tomorrow and thank her for talking some sense to you!"

Gertie sort of smiled, and her face turned red again as she walked towards the kitchen door, "If it makes you feel better, Mom, I think I'm going to listen to what you said, and go on ahead and turn in tonight." With a gigantic grin on her face, she admitted, "I'm tired, and I have to get up early, and help Miles start on the fence tomorrow." Before she left, Gertie looked down at her nails, picking at them. By his daughter's body language, inherited from her miscreant mother, Arnold knew something was up with his girl, "Ah, would it be okay for me to invite Kyo over to dinner sometime next week?"

"Kyo's dropped in to have dinner with us unannounced hundreds of times, so of course you can ask him, but why ask permission now?" Arnold wondered aloud as he crossed his arms, only then noticing that the necklace Kyo wore around his neck religiously was now gracing his daughter's. Despite the fact that in a way he was sad that he was losing his little girl again, Arnold had to smile too, because Gertie seemed to be extremely happy, so of course, he was too.

As their daughter and Arnold shared a silent knowing discourse, Helga had an eyebrow raised at both of them, and Gertie added, "Well, this is kind of different."

Helga opened the refrigerator and looked at the large tube of pink and white speckled ground beef inside that she swore two cows must have given their lives to make. "Well, I hope Kyo's a meatloaf man because that's what we're probably going to be having. Invite him tomorrow night."

Gertie couldn't believe it rolled off her tongue, but she asked in hopeful surprise, "Tomorrow? We're grounded!"

Helga waved a dismissive hand to both Gertie and her husband's surprise. "You'll be finished with that fence by noon if you and your brother hustle." As Gertie looked at her father, and he simply shrugged, the curious mother wondered, "What's so special about this particular dinner?"

Not answering, Gertie grinned at her mother, and then gave a two-fingered buddy point to her father. "Get your game face ready, Daddy!"

"Gotcha', Kiddo." Arnold said with a wink and a point back as he walked over to Gertie, and gave her a tight hug, ending it with a gentle peck on her cheek. "Love you, 'Hopper, good night."

"Love you too, Dad," Gertie promised as she kissed back, then remarked to her mother, "See you in a few minutes, Mom." After Gertie kissed her mother's cheek, the exuberant girl left the kitchen to run up the stairs to her room noisily, with her hand to her mouth.

The curious woman asked while rummaging through the freezer to find a gel pack, "What was that all about?"

With a gigantic grin, Arnold answered, "Gertie's got a new boyfriend."

Helga shot up from her bent over crouch in surprise with the gel pack in her hand and turned to face Arnold as he said, "You know she won't use that."

Helga scoffed, "She will tonight, by golly, even if I have to hog tie her."

Arnold exhaled. "I gather since Gertie's got a boyfriend again, you're going to go talk to her about some mother daughter things, and the icepack is a segue into the inner sanctum?"

Helga glanced down at the cold blue, soft plastic device. "Looks like it." With a studious tone, Helga observed, "She's obviously expecting it." As Helga put a bottle of the medicine she took for her own aches in the waistband of her boxers, and as Arnold gave her a strange look at the action, she put some ice in a glass, then some water.

The well-meaning man looked upwards, "Well, I won't embarrass her by talking to her about it. I'll let you do the talk thing about, you know the," He shook his head with a red face and made a gesture with his hand, "Stuff about, well," Helga had to smile a little as Arnold's face became more red, "You know."

As Helga looked at him as if he was nuts, Arnold said with perverted glee as he rubbed his hands together, "You know, Helga, I've been waiting years for this!"

Helga looked at Arnold funny, "For Gertie and Kyo to date?"

With a twisted face, Arnold said forcefully, "Hell no!" Helga raised an eyebrow as he added with a look on his face accentuated by crossed arms, "It’s just that you know that he's been scheming to take our girl away from us since they were toddlers." Helga looked at her paranoid husband incredulously as he shrugged, "I just can't wait to corner Kyo and threaten to kill him if he so much as kisses Grasshopper."

"Are you turning into a worrisome old dad now?" The more realistic woman asked, knowing her husband was probably much too late for the threat against a kiss as she stood upon the balls of her feet, giving Arnold a loving kiss on the lips.

Arnold bent down, and reciprocated with a kiss on Helga's forehead, "I've always been that." Wisely, Arnold added with a point, "Besides, I know how boys are." With a harrumph, Arnold added, "They're only after one thing!"

"Yeah, I know." Helga shook her head knowingly. "Either someone to fry them a pan of bacon at three on the morning, or bake them a cake." Arnold squinted his green eyes at Helga, but she simply responded with a loving chuck on the chin. Then the loving woman left Arnold alone to contemplate the perils of fatherhood and eat his dessert in relative peace, but not before he gave Helga a loving pinch on the bottom to prove his point.

* * *

Upstairs, and fresh from changing into a hole filled t-shirt from a beach vacation in the distant past, and pair of sewn up red boxers she "borrowed" from her mother, Gertie was sitting on the edge of the twin bed in her room, licking shaved chocolate and whipped topping from her fingers.

Trying desperately not to get sticky fingerprints on her Japanese art book, Gertie wished she had a chance to get a napkin, but it wasn't a consideration while she was stealing her father's cake undetected. Soon enough, she heard footsteps on the landing, then someone knocking on the door, and when Gertie said, "Please come in," Helga opened the door and walked inside.

The contemplative mother did, but before she could say anything, Arnold's faint voice registered from what Helga assumed was the kitchen. "Did you take my cake, Pop Tart?"

While her guilty daughter giggled, Helga eyed the hint of chocolate on Gertie's lips and fingers, yelling down with astounding patience, "No, Honey, I wouldn't dare!"

Arnold shouted upwards with a faux whine, "Will you fry me some bacon?" The dutiful wife simply sighed, shook her head at her daughter, and then walked inside Gertie's room. Before Helga could escape her husband's juvenile questions by closing the door, Arnold made it up the steps just in time to ask dramatically, "Will you bake me a cake with bacon in it?" Arnold looked at his miscreant daughter, wiggled his eyebrows, and then winked at her, as Gertie stifled a chuckle behind her hand.

Helga said nothing to the ridiculous man in that moment, opting to shut Gertie's bedroom door in her husband's face. Helga turned to face her girl, but through the wooden door, she heard her Arnold's muffled voice declare, "If you loved me you would do it, Queen Midas."

As Helga pounded the door with her fist, she made a face, and yelled, "You are so on my nerves right now! Go away, Football Head!"

When the frustrated but smiling woman turned to face her laughing daughter, Gertie settled enough to add, "You know, Mom, a bacon cake sounds kinda' good right now."

Helga rolled her eyes, "Don't you start!" As her mischievous daughter grinned, Helga lifted the corner of her shirt and pulled a bottle of pills out of the waistband of her boxers. Taking a moment to enjoy the dumbfounded look on Gertie’s face, Helga sat on the side of the small bed, placed the glass of water and gel pack she was carrying on the nightstand, and raised her left leg onto the bed as she seated herself, stiffly pulling backwards.

The sore woman's knee was hurting again; and her back had a week old kink in it to begin with, but clicking around in heels on hard surfaces during that eventful morning, and falling through her son's window that interesting evening didn't help either.

Helga figured her days of the old school tumble through the Sunset Arms' skylights, ceilings, and windows she could have bounced back from like a rubber ball unharmed were now a thing of the past.

With concern, Gertie watched her mother's face slightly twist, and listened to her knees flex while she pushing herself backwards. In the quiet of her room, it sounded like her mother's joints had packing peanuts in between them. Her mom had been a successful athlete, there was no doubt about that, but as she watched the pain Helga tried to hide from all of them daily, it disturbed Gertie the toll it had taken on her body. The young girl began to think about herself, and wondered if that was how she would wind up if she kept playing basketball the reckless way that she did.

Noticing her daughter's facial expression as the concerned child helped put a pillow behind her back, Helga used a joke the walls of the Shortman home had never heard before as she touched Gertie's cheek with her cold fingers. "Never get old, Shortman."

With a sideways smile and slight exhale that passed for a laugh, Gertie pulled herself back onto the small twin bed so that her back met the headboard and turned to her mother who offered her a tablet and the glass of water. "I know you don't want this, but please consider taking it, because it will help you feel better, and reduce the swelling of your hand."

Gertie didn't want the medicine, but she placed the tablet on her lips and downed it with the cool water in the glass her mother held, because she knew that she wasn't feeling like a rousing argument right then. "Thanks, Mom," With caution the tough girl added, "Just don't tell Miles I took it, okay?" Helga nodded as Gertie shook her head, "It's a sign of weakness, and he'll say I'm less of a man." As Helga laughed, Gertie felt the need to say, "I'm also sorry that I bothered you two downstairs." With a look to the side, she admitted, "I should have looked inside through the kitchen door window or something. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you and Dad."

Helga gave her daughter an incredulous look. "Good grief, Kiddo, it's your house too!" With a look upwards, she added, "I’m sorry you were subjected to the sight of that." With an admission based upon her own early childhood experience, Helga admitted, "I know it's kind of creepy for kids to walk in on their parents doing things like that."

Gertie joked, "Hey, it's your house too, you know." She felt as if she should not say what was on her mind, but she took a chance of it not being taken the wrong way, and did anyway. "It didn't really bother me." With a blush, but heartfelt sincerity, and a smile, Gertie added, "I'm glad you two are together and still in love. It's kind of like I told Miles earlier, from the looks of things with most of the parents of the people we go to school with, it's kind of rare for couples like you to have gotten married so young and still be married to each other."

With a grateful feeling, and admiring her daughter's maturity, she said, "Well, I wouldn’t spend the rest of my life with just anybody; your father is an extremely special man."

Arnold walked past Gertie's door one last time, tapped on it, and mumbled through the crack, "You know, you're mean to me all the time, Pop Tart, but I still love ya' anyway!"

"Yep, he's real special, alright." Helga added dryly as Gertie laughed, and she heard Arnold rumble down the steps again, presumably for another slice of cake. Then the aching woman popped two of the blue pills into her own mouth, and then washed them down with the same glass Gertie drank from. The concerned mother took a glance at her daughter's hand, and decided to tempt the fates further by offering the blue gel pack to her. When Gertie didn't refuse it, but instead placed it on the bluing appendage, the loving mother who was truly surprised ventured, "Thank you for trying alternative medicine, Miss Shortman, you get a gold star."

Two chuckled, and then Helga adjusted the red cased pillow behind her back. Struggling with it, Gertie reached over and pulled it into the place in which she thought her mother wanted it, and then the aching woman leaned back in relief with a sigh.

In comfortable silence, two sat in silent contemplation of each other for a few moments, and then Helga spoke. "I know you have a basketball practice and an English paper due next week, but what's your club schedule looking like, 'Gert? I know you're working the French club cheese festival booth, but are you washing cars with the basketball team, or selling cotton candy with the swimming team?"

"Well, I kind of promised everyone that I would help them do all three." Gertie shrugged.

Helga did a double take and then simply shook her head, "How in the world are you going to do all of that, 'Gert?" With exasperation Helga said, "You're going to kill yourself!" With a half hearted scold, mostly because she was concerned, Helga dictated with a shaking index finger, "You are just like your father, you overextend yourself much too often."

Gertie rolled her eyes, "I don't do enough to help, Mom, and I promise I won't kill myself."

Helga pursed her lips. "You also sound just like your father too."

With confidence, Gertie assuaged her mother's concerns with a wink, "I know it'll be a juggling act that's for sure, but have my time all figured out, I‘ve divided the day into three parts. I‘ll help the French club in the morning, the basketball team in the afternoon, and finish up with the swimming team." As Helga gave Gertie a funny look, the girl studied her baseball mitt-like hand, Gertie wondered, "Surely my hand will be better by next Saturday." The girl asked with hope, "Don't you think?"

Helga gave the wound unseen scrutiny, "It should be, but I guarantee you that it'll be sore for a few days." The woman lifted the gel pack, "It’ll be swollen for the next few days though, and you’ll have a heck of a bruise on it for awhile." Helga nodded upwards, "I know you don't want to let your friends down, but they'll understand if you're not quite up to snuff by next week.” Helga said brightly, "Maybe they'll find something for you to do that won't require so much use of your hands."

Gertie made a face, "Stinki's already tried to rope me into manning the girl's basketball team kissing booth because Jella won't do it on account of Andrea." Helga gave Gertie a look of surprise as Gertie admitted, "It’s okay, Mom, they told me that you caught them making out at last year's cheese festival."

Noticing the look on her mother's face, Gertie decided to get back to the original topic, "Anyway, I've already told Stinki no way I'm doing that and to find someone else to swap spit with strangers!" With a disgusted face, Gertie muttered, "Kissing booths are right next door to prostitution." Helga's eyes widened as Gertie ended with, "Besides, I don't wanna' get a case of mono either."

Helga chuckled at her girl, "I don't blame you." Helga added craftily, "Anyway, seeing the relationship change you've experienced of late, I doubt very much that a certain new boyfriend would appreciate your participating in that particular fund raiser either."

Gertie smiled, "No, probably not." The girl then got a wicked look on her face, "Then again, if I did volunteer, Kyo might buy all the tickets from the booth, so that could be a good thing."

“You’re an evil woman, Gertrude Shortman.” Helga patted her daughter on the back with pride. “I can respect that.” The two laughed, and Helga patted Gertie's undamaged hand. "Kyo's a good boy and I ‘m so glad that you two have discovered one another."

Gertie's cheeks flushed a little, but she cracked a smile. "I think we both liked each other all along, it was just the two of us working up enough courage to admit it that was the hurdle." Ashamed of her immaturity over the matter and regretful that she and Kyo could have been together much earlier as her father had related about he and her mother, Gertie sighed. "I let that stupid mess with Tim influence me, and it was wrong for me to be fearful of taking a chance again, or to be afraid that Kyo might not be my friend anymore if we didn't work out."

Helga nodded her head to the side. "Well don't beat yourself up too badly for that, Sweetie." She was tempted to use all the wonderful, but foul sobriquets that she had conjured in her mind for the rotten boy, but Helga settled for, "Tim betrayed and hurt you deeply, so how you felt was only natural, and after all that; you weren’t ready for another relationship just yet." The wise mother related, "That's all in the past though, and frankly, Tim is the only person who lost anything because he was so lucky to have a wonderful person such as you in his life, and that's over for him now."

Helga sighed with an assuring pat on her daughter's thigh with a smile. "You're more brave than a lot of people, Gertie, you're not brooding over him, but giving love another chance with a wonderful person who is worthy of you." With confidence, Helga noted, "You know that Kyo wouldn't ever treat you like that, and no matter what, he will always love and care for you, even if you two aren't always a romantically inclined couple."

"I know, Mom." With a grateful smile, the girl, added, "Dad helped me realize that."

As Helga thought of Arnold's sweet speech at the duplex house all those years ago she cheerfully cautioned, "Well, don't tell your father I said this, but he is always right." With a fond lilt, she added, "His instincts are always correct when it comes to matters of the heart, and the right thing to do."

Gertie smiled, "Don't worry, Mom, I know you worship the ground he walks on, but I'll never ever tell."

As the shadows of a poem recited by a long dead parrot danced through her head, Helga tried to think of most tactful way to discuss the topic that she had come to speak to her daughter about. She was trying to think of a way to not make it awkward for Gertie, but still get her point across with no misunderstandings. Clearing her throat, Helga announced, "You and Kyo have known each other since you've been in diapers, and friends just as long, but now, well, things have changed between the two of you considerably."

The caring mother added slowly, thinking well before she spoke, "I hope that you know that your father and I love you, and that anytime that you want to talk about things, or have questions, or concerns, that we're here for you. You can ask us anything, and we will listen, and if you want, try to help you with advice." The thoughtful parent then ended, "I also hope that you know that you can always tell us anything too."

The girl, appreciating her mother's tact nodded, "I've always known that, Mom, you and dad help me all the time." Gertie shrugged, "You may not think that I listen to you and dad, and take what you think about things into account, but I really do."

The girl wished to assuage her mother's obvious concern, the sticky one that she tiptoed around, but hadn‘t been able to broach yet. "I know that you and dad might be worried that me and 'K might do something that's," Gertie chose her word well, "Irresponsible somewhere down the line, in the heat of a moment, and I understand why, I really do, because that isn't something that one should be capricious about."

Helga looked surprised, but Gertie took her mother's hand, and looked into her eyes so that she knew her mother would know she was telling the truth instead of what she wanted to hear. "I honestly don't know where 'K and I will wind up, how serious we'll get, or what we will do together in the future in respects to our relationship." Despite herself she blushed, but added with more truthfulness, "I want you to know that I will do my best to not do anything that would endanger my future or make you both ashamed of me and sorry that I'm your daughter."

Helga drew her daughter into her arms and gripped her tightly, then gently pulled the girl's face up so that she could look into her eyes. "Don't you dare say that!" Gertie's eyes widened as her mother squeezed her tightly. "Your father and I could never ever be ashamed of you, no matter what!" Helga released the girl, and then framed Gertie's face in her hands, "We are both so proud of you and we love you, nothing you could ever do would change that!" Cautiously, Helga added, "But I am glad that you've thought of this yourself, it's extremely adult and responsible of you. You've become the person you are through minimal interference by us, and we trust you, Sweetheart, to continue to make the right decisions for yourself."

That statement meant more to her daughter than her mother could have known, and with love, and even more respect for her parents, Gertie kissed her mother's cheek, then slid down to rest her head on her thigh and sighed. "Thanks, Mom."

As Helga stroked her daughter's long blonde hair, now free from its ponytail, Gertie admitted shyly with a blush she was glad her mother couldn‘t see, "I think that Kyo my one, Mom, the person that I'm supposed to be with." Shaking her head, Gertie added, "I know it’s soon, and it sounds silly, I'm only seventeen years old and I’m not supposed to know what real love is yet," She rose and looked up at her mother. "But I do know that I love him, though."

Gertie was expecting her mother to tell her the same thing that her father did that afternoon about multiple starts and stops, but was completely surprised with her mother‘s next statement. "I don't think you're silly at all, Sweetheart, I know you love Kyo and have done so for a long time, just as I've noticed for a time that Kyo has obviously felt the same way about you too."

From her own experience with love, Helga refused to condescend to her daughter. "I know you're not a little girl anymore, but almost a grown woman." With pride, Helga acknowledged, "God knows you're a lot more mature than some adults that are walking around, that's for certain!"

Helga held Gertie's chin in her index finger and thumb. "You're never too young or old to know what love is, and if you're meant to be with Kyo, your father and I will happily embrace him as a son." The pondering woman added cautiously with a funny lilt, "Hell, he hangs out here more than he does at his own house to begin with anyway."

Helga understood all too well why Miriam said what she did on that first fateful trip to South Dakota without her father, and she said lovingly, "I just want you to remember that no matter how far away in the world you go, how old you get, what you do, or whatever happens, you'll always be my little girl."

With a new understanding of each other, the two enjoyed each other's company in comfortable silence. As Helga stroked Gertie's hair, she added with a funny tone, "Just don't tell me when you and Kyo argue, you'll forgive him and make up, but I'll still be mad at him."

As the two laughed loudly, Helga turned to the Japanese art book on Gertie‘s nightstand, picked it up, and began flipping through the pages. "This is a really nice book he got for you."

“Yeah, it is.” Gertie scooted down and nestled her head onto her mother's stomach and put her arm across it, and while Helga stroked her daughter's soft blonde locks, they spoke about the watercolor plates, straying into other topics, eventually falling into a comfortable silence. As Helga examined a frame depicting a blue and white foam crested wave, she heard a tiny snore issue from her girl, smiling that her girl was fast asleep in her arms, just like when she was little.

Helga's eyes stung while enjoying the moment, because the time was coming swiftly in which moments like these were going to be nothing more than a sweet memory of her with her baby girl. Gertie was going away for college sooner than she liked, and she was sad that she would not get to see her everyday like did now. With an ache in her heart, Helga was already missing both her children, but she felt good that they were strong and capable of handling anything that the world had to throw at them.

With pride, Helga realized that she and Arnold helped see to that, and isn't that want parents are supposed to do for their children anyway?

At the moment, Helga could have slid down on the bed and fallen as soundly asleep as Gertie was, but as she checked the time on the alarm clock to the side of the bed, she knew from the silence of the upstairs room, Miles still wasn't home yet.

Helga carefully plucked Gertie's arm from around her and slowly got up so not to disturb the slumbering girl. Once standing, the thoughtful mother draped a warm flannel blanket over her child, kissed her cheek a last time that evening, taking care to stroke an errant few hairs behind her ear, picked up the cool gel pack, then walked over to the bedroom door, quietly opening it.

Indulging a last time, Helga took a last look at the sleeping young woman before closing the door while Gertie's shaggy brown cat walked in. As Chewie jumped up on the bed, and curled on the pre-warmed spot that Helga had just vacated, the loving mother let out a sigh, took a last look, then closed the bedroom door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Arnold was created by Craig Bartlett, and belongs to Viacom Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> Thundercats was created by Ted Wolf, and the five part mini series, "Thundercats Ho! The Movie" was written by Leonard Starr. All characters and related indicia are the property of Time-Warner Inc. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred. 
> 
> Transformers and its related characters belong to Hasbro Inc. under the license of Takara/Tomy Ltd. of Japan. No infringement on Hasbro or Takara's property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> Transformers: The Movie (1986) was written by Ron Friedman, directed by Nelson Shin, and produced by Flint Dille, Margaret Loesch, Lee Gunther, and was made by Sunbow Animation which was a company owned by Marvel Entertainment Group Inc., which now belongs to the Walt Disney Corporation. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The generation one episodes of Transformers-"Dark Awakening" written by Antoni Zelewski, "Grimlock's New Brain" written by Paul Davids, "The Five Faces of Darkness" Written by Flint Dille, and "The Return of Optimus Prime" written by Cherie Wilkerson, and Marv Wolfman. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> G.I Joe: A Real American Hero and the character, Duke, are the property of Hasbro Inc. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> The joke about the word "funky" in conjunction with the description of music comes from a comedy act performed by Redd Foxx. No infringement on his property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> Courtney’s piano solo, the instrumental Happy Piano, was composed by Hood, Terry Disley, and found on the Moodswings album, is owned by BMG Eurodisc LTD. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred. 
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from The Maxwell Implosion song Tic Tac, which is on the Small Circle of Friends album.


	14. From Mousy to Marvelous

Courtney balled her fist, hiccupping into it and then took the last sip of tea from her sweating glass. After wiping her lips with the napkin placed on her lap, and then placing it on the table after accomplishing the equivalent of a decadent, evening long Roman feast minus the throwing up in between courses. The full girl promised her companion with a groan, "I swear I'll _never_ eat _again_.” With regret, Courtney warily added, “I'm going to have to double up my training run tomorrow to make up for tonight‘s gluttony." With dread, she added, "Provided I can move."

Miles, to the contrary, who had fully enjoyed his meal; except for the hot oil part, and could have eaten a little more if he just had to, rubbed his nearly full stomach with hopeful mischief. "Where do you think would you like to go for dessert?" Looking upwards into his exhaustive mental list of the Hillwood City establishments that would still be open where one could buy ice cream or other sweets at that hour, the resourceful boy mentioned, "We can't go get cotton candy because the boardwalk closed last week." Courtney gave Miles a funny look; there was something oddly familiar about the phrase. "Slausen's and Holly's Chocolates are still open if you‘d like to go, my treat." With a large amount of cleverness the boy was proud of, he smiled. "I called it first, so you have to let me pay this time!"

An incredulous look graced Courtney's face as she held her almost overfull stomach and replied, "Let's not start that argument again and please tell me that you're just joking about eating more food."

As the unbelieving girl raised an eyebrow towards the young man, Miles added in a spirited tone with a shrug, and that mischievous grin that Courtney had grown to adore. "Hey, I'm a growing boy, and there's always room for dessert." Before the mystified girl could wonder if Miles had a parasitic infection or possession of several stomachs like a bovine, Park walked up to the table with a large round black, cork bottomed tray. Upon the tray was a light payload of a single small white plate; with two golden, shrink wrapped fortune cookies sitting upon it.

"So," Park asked as he placed the plated fortune cookies on the crowded tabletop between his charges as he filled their tea glasses one last time, "Did that hit the spot, or what?"

Miles grinned and gave his compliments, "It bombarded the spot, Mr. Dodson!" With a wink at Courtney he added, "I think the _Rhondurly_ special is now my new official favorite dish."

Courtney smiled, and truthfully flattered, "Absolutely delicious, Park, and perfect as usual!" Gratefully she added, "Thank you again for treating us."

By nature a ham, Park took Courtney's hand into his and placed a gallant kiss upon her warm knuckles as Miles put his fingers on his forehead, peeking through them Park at the same time. When he finished, the charming man said to the sweet girl, "It is _always_ a pleasure to serve the wonderful Fu.”

Then Park's attention turned to the boy, who looked like he was about to burst into laughter at him. With a nod towards him, Park admitted, "I enjoy serving the noble Shortman too." With a wink and grin, he added, "But, I'm not kissing your hand, Miles."

The boy laughed as he held up his outstretched hand. "That’s alright, I’m good."

Courtney looked at the clock on the wall, it was nearing the time in which the restaurant was to close, and the same amount of time in which her curfew was to be up as well. "I didn't realize how late it was." With some concern, Courtney added, "I need to be home by midnight, or Consuela will be worried."

In equal embarrassment for inconveniencing their benefactor, Miles added, "I have to be home by then too." Then he looked at their host, "And I know you're bound to want to be closing up right now too, Park, so we'll show ourselves out."

Miles and Courtney were shifting to beat a hasty retreat in unison, but Park put his hands on their shoulders. "No, no, stay where you are!" Both kids warily settled back into their chairs as Park explained. "I'm not officially closing until P.J., Jeneane, and Katrinka roll in." With a breathy sigh, Park added as he checked his watch, "During the week they'd be here by now, but since it is Friday, hard telling when that will be.” The man shook his head and rolled his eyes upwards, "The girls probably dragged poor P.J. to the mall after Katrinka picked them up from school." Park joked, "And everybody knows how _much_ P.J. _loves_ to shop."

Miles and Courtney nodded in sympathy for their mutual acquaintance, because P.J. had made more than one statement that he hated shopping in any form, especially for clothing. In fact, Park Junior’s requirement for garments was that his clothing had at least three distinctive holes. The holes could be located anywhere, but he preferred them to be in the stomach of his shirts, and in his pants, the knees, seat, and hind pockets, and if you could tell the color and pattern of his underwear for the day, even _better_.

P.J. reveled in telling everyone that hole filled clothing was his trademark and the next big fashion statement, but despite everyone telling him grunge was over, evidentially the boy still clung to hope for a resurgence.

Park senior’s face curled as he continued, "I wouldn't be a bit surprised if the mall cops had to throw 'Trinka and 'Jen out at closing time, and P.J. got on his naked knees and thanked them." As Courtney laughed, because the forceful extrication of the two style loving, notoriously trendy shopping addicts wasn't as far fetched as it sounded. Alternately, Miles figured that his impatient basketball teammate and friend was probably extremely angry if they had been gone as long as Park's conversation suggested. "After all the torment they subjected my boy to, they probably went out someplace other than here to eat so P.J. would settle down." Park rolled his eyes with disdain. "Katrinka says she gets tired of Chinese food too for some reason." He raised his arms and hands upwards towards the ceiling and asked a rhetorical question, "How does anyone get tired of Chinese food?"

Miles, who loved the stuff, but could also completely understand Mrs. Park's wife's point of view, looked at Courtney, and as she wisely didn't respond to the question, Miles said with a lilt not unlike his mother's, "It's a mystery."

Park patted Miles on the back and said brightly, "Thanks, Helga." Miles did a double take at Park as Courtney giggled, and the smiling man added as he reverted to the original topic. "Anyway, the two of you are welcome to stay as long as you like, there's no need for you to skitter off in a hurry on my part." Park pointed down at the table with a revelation, "Besides, you haven't even eaten your fortune cookies yet." With a wink, he added with a mystical tone, "How will you know what the future holds?"

As Park walked away, Miles grinned at Courtney and picked up the plate. "He does have a point." Miles held the plate up for her to choose, and as he did, he gazed at her with those damned half lidded blue eyes, and she was easily becoming addicted. With a kind, deep timbre that made her melt inside, the charming boy politely invited, “Ladies first.” As Courtney was about to gingerly pick up a cookie, Miles cautioned with a raised index finger, "Choose wisely, Fu," Courtney's smile turned more crooked. "You have to pick the right cookie so that you'll get the message you're supposed to." With absolute certainty, Miles related, "Up until you make your choice, the paper is blank you know."

Courtney looked at the boy somewhat funny, "Where in the world did you hear that bit of insider information?"

Miles grinned. "Mom said that my great grandmother said that all the time."

"Oh." Courtney smiled as she pulled the plastic wrapper off her cookie, and then cracked it open, and as she handed an empty half of it to Miles to eat, she added cautiously, "It seems that Gertrude Shortman the elder had her own way of both looking at, and doing things."

The candlelit boy admitted truthfully, with a smile as he relished the delicious sweet cookie, and grey-green squinted eyes of the girl he adored, "She was pretty much a free spirit." Miles said as he shook his head, picked up, and broke open his own fortune cookie, "Mom and dad said that she used to run everyone nuts with some of the things she’d say, or stunts she would pull."

Courtney could definitely see that Miles had been carrying on family tradition, and honoring his great grandmother's memory dutifully as she pulled the paper away from the interior of the cookie half, looking at Miles the entire time. "So, what does your fortune reveal, mystical Miles?"

The boy pulled the paper free of his cookie, but not before almost tearing it in half. As Miles politely offered Courtney part of his cookie, and she refused, the thoughtful boy shoved the entire half of the crackling confection into his mouth; and mumbled as he crunched, "The world is always ready to receive talent with open arms."

"See?" Courtney said with great confidence as she leaned forward and raised her eyebrow at Miles. "And you were worried."

The smitten boy smiled and flipped the piece of paper and read the Chinese word for the uneducated novice to learn. Miles studied the English spelling of the word for a moment, and when he felt he could pronounce the word without sounding too foolish, he announced, "Huang gua?"

The clever girl pointed at the interesting boy. "Cucumber." With a fond grin, Courtney added with a point, "You have a pretty good accent for a Hillwood boy."

Miles looked down at the piece of paper and saw that there was no way for her to see what was written on it, impressed he wondered, “How in the world did you know that?”

Courtney said with a false, haughty tone, with a touch of incredulous as she looked upwards, placing the fingers of her left hand over her heart dramatically, "Well, didn't you know, Miles?" The boy gave Courtney a flabbergasted look as she continued with a lilt, "I speak fluent fortune cookie Chinese." Miles looked clueless with her explanation, so with a truthful admission the knowledgeable girl confessed, "Actually, I don't speak any Chinese at all," The clever girl smirked, "Well, except the little bit I’ve picked up from Park, Park's family, and the workers in the kitchen."

Miles raised his finger, cleverly catching her mistake, "Well, that means you speak a little Chinese then."

"Well, yes, but it doesn't count really, because most of it is random profanity, and three non dirty words fish, pork, and chicken." Grinning at Miles' priceless expression, the honest girl finished her confession. "Dad and I eat so much here that we get the same cookies over and over again from the same box, so I pretty much have all the words memorized."

Courtney was careful to admit as she rattled the empty cellophane wrapper her cookie came in pinched her thumb and index finger, "I hope that the case these cookies came in run out soon so a new one will have to be opened. I'm ready for a real challenge, like learning how to say anti-disestablishmentarianism, or refrigerator, you know, something hard like that." As Miles laughed, Courtney was careful to backtrack. "But, that doesn't mean the fortunes on the cookies are wrong, Shortman." With assurance she added, "You were meant to get that fortune because you truly are a talented individual." Courtney pressed her palms together tightly and bowed. "As you said earlier, Sage One, there are no mistakes."

Miles smiled warmly, and then remarked, "We keep telling Gertie it will never happen, but my sister is still holding out hope that at some point in life she'll get a fortune cookie that will teach her how to say her favorite word in Chinese."

Courtney laughed, then said with a funny smile, tilted head, and raised eyebrow, "The infamous A double S?" Then the naughty girl added for her own amusement, "Accompanied usually by either, 'that smells like', or 'you are an'?"

Flabbergasted, Miles wondered, "How did you know that?"

Courtney shrugged, but she looked like she knew much more than she let on while she studied her short nails, but Miles, decided not to think much more of it. "Well, you'll definitely have to teach Gertie that one, along with some of those other special worldly words that you know that you've picked up." Miles admitted with a sigh that was obviously annoyed sounding, "I'm quite sure that my sister would just love to learn how to tell me where to go in a third language because two just aren't enough."

Courtney gave Miles a sweet, knowing smile. "You'd open a vein for that girl, Miles Shortman."

Miles retorted, "She'd open it for me." As Courtney's laughter settled, Miles gobbled down his other cookie half, and mumbled thoughtfully, "So, what's your fortune say?"

Courtney, who had been gazing into Miles' eyes, not paying too close attention in particular, wondered dreamily, "Hmmm?"

Upon hearing the soft voice that entranced Miles like a siren song, he swallowed hard and repeated with a blush, "Your fortune, what does it say?"

" _Oh_." Courtney hurriedly adjusted her glasses, earnestly hoping that Miles didn't realize she was staring at him like a lovesick nut and then looked down at the table. Finding her own tiny slip of paper, she noticed Miles smiling, and looking at her intently. As she squinted downwards to read her fortune, Courtney announced, "People say you have a keen sense and sharp intellect"

Miles shrugged as he took a cool sip of tea, "See? The fortune you got further proves grandma's theory."

"Do you really believe all that Miles?" The girl asked half jokingly as Miles nodded vigorously. "You know very well that when we were in second grade we all went to Atlas cookie company as a field trip and saw the machines placing pre-written messages in the warm cookies prior to folding them."

Miles dismissed that obvious fact immediately with a wave of his hand, "Those were dummy cookies they make on the day kids go on factory tours so that the secret of the magic paper won't be discovered."

She said warily, "Okay, but I hope you never share that information too widely there, Miles."

"Why is that?" Miles wondered, hoping Courtney didn't think he was some kind of nut job or something.

The wise brunette looked from side to side. “Not because people will say you’re crazy or something if that’s what you’re thinking.” Miles rose an eyebrow at Courtney as she held her arms out to the side demonstratively, “The American Chinese fortune cookie mafia will hear about it, come to your house, take you away, cut you to bits, and you’ll be buried the end zone of some football stadium somewhere.” Courtney leaned over the table towards Miles and whispered with wide eyes, "Or wind up in a can of dog food just like Jimmy Hoffa did, and that's not a good end for anybody!" Miles got a funny look on his face as Courtney corrected, "Actually, I think that I got that backwards." Before the confused boy could further remark on the pretended shady dealings of a non-existent underground criminal syndicate, famous missing persons, or the brunette's outlandish imagination, Courtney grabbed her purse by the strap off the floor, got up, and announced, "If you'll excuse me please, I'm going to go to the powder room."

Miles got up from his seat in respect and said politely, "I'll be waiting for you." After Courtney cocked an eyebrow at Miles, she picked up the other half of the fortune cookie she didn't eat from the plate it came on, and handed it to the handsome boy as she walked away, because he obviously wanted to eat it.

"Thanks!" Miles said cheerily as he accepted the kindness eagerly.

"Fuhgeddaboudit." Courtney added with badly imitated accent she had picked up from a gangster movie.

Miles turned to watch her, but when Courtney turned, he spun back around, so she wouldn't know that he had been watching her, even though it was obvious that he was too late. After a few moments when he felt it was safe, Miles turned back to catch a fleeting glance at Courtney, but just as he turned, a dark shadow barely disappeared down the narrow hallway where the men's and women's restrooms were located.

With his thoughts elsewhere, as he shoved the last of Courtney's cookie into his mouth, Miles sat down with his lips bearing a smile at how well things were going between the two them.

  
While he was drifting through daydream land with an utterly ridiculous look on his face at the infinite possibilities the rest of the evening held, Miles failed to notice that he had company.

When the inattentive boy looked up and jumped as Park looked upwards, trying to spare the boy's pride. Miles figured that Park was going to ask him if he could be anymore obvious about her, but instead only asked, “Would you mind if I went on ahead and cleared these so I can do the last load of dishes for the night?”

Relieved that he was not questioned about anything pertaining to Courtney Gammelthorpe, like why he was with her, or why she was with him, because that morning it was common knowledge that she couldn't stand him, the blushing boy blurted out, "No, no, not at all, Park!" As Park warily studied Miles, the helpful boy suggested, "Actually, let me help you clean this mess up." The boy shrugged, "It's the least I can do since chow was on the house."

"That's nice of you to offer, Milesey." Miles tried not to cringe because it would have been impolite, and in turn, Park cocked an eyebrow at the boy, wondering if there was going to be a catch for helping him as it usually was with his children. "P.J. and Jeneane usually head for the hills when it's after dinner clean up time, either here or at home." Park placed the soiled stacked dishes on the table onto the empty tray, and as Miles helped him, the man wondered if he should say anything, but he decided to anyway, "You know, Miles, P.J. and 'Jen told us about what happened between you, Gertie, and the asshole patrol this morning."

Miles' eyes shot up at Park incredulously at the usually proper man's rare use of accurate profanity, then he put his face in his hand, shamed on multiple levels because of the notoriously thoughtless way he had treated Courtney, and how he had let his parents down with the aforementioned. "I should really explain."

Park held up his hand, "No, there's need." The surprised boy's head shot up as Park added, "I think it was good of you and your sister to take up for Courtney the way you did." The regretful boy and his sister had heard it several times already, but it was nice that people understood why what happened did, "Not many people would have had the courage to, and I just wanted to tell you that I admire you both for it."

Miles' jaw dropped as the man continued as he leaned down low, close to Miles' ear, and asked with a prurient curiosity, "Please don't mind my asking, Miles, but just what is going on with you and Fu?" The knowing man teased with an accepting, even approving lilt with a rough pat on Miles' shoulder. "I thought you two weren't exactly members of each other's fan club."

With a grin, but checking to make sure Courtney or no one else was in earshot, Park whispered into Miles' ear with a wink as he playfully elbowed him. "I think that appearances have always been a bit deceiving, though haven‘t they?" Park slapped the uncomfortable boy on the back as he chuckled, "Oh, Lord, you are so much like your mama!" Park carefully added, "Not that it is a bad thing, I love Helga to death!"

"Uh," Was the only utterance that the trapped boy's throat allowed to escape as he shrugged, trying to think of how to change the topic desperately as he rose scouring his mind for an excuse to leave the table without being rude.

In the process of such, the boy faithfully demonstrated the physical dexterity of Buddy Love, his near unbelievable haphazard physical onscreen antics, and bumped his thigh into the sharp corner of the table. As Miles rubbed his leg in discomfort, he took a step back and knocked his chair backwards onto the floor, making a loud clattering noise on the chair behind it, before it fell to the red-carpeted floor with a dull thunk.

The clumsy boy stepped back, and as Miles almost tripped over the raised chair legs behind him, he corrected himself, unwittingly stepping on the untied shoelace on his right foot, making him stumble forward, and almost fall directly into the tray full of dirty dishes. Park helplessly watched his dishes fall to the floor as he fumbled to catch the tipping tray, while Miles’ steadied himself on the much sturdier table corner.

Park managed to catch the tray balanced precariously at the end of the table on the flimsy stand, but with the weight of the heavy dishes moving with inertia of their own, they slid off onto the floor. The first thick dishes fell to the floor but didn't shatter because of the carpet, but when the other dishes that followed struck, they shattered both the surviving plates, and themselves.  
As Park watched the collateral damage mount with wide, unbelieving eyes, Miles made profuse apologies with his hand on his head looking utterly helpless as he pointed at the destruction he created, "Oh, man! I am so sorry! I swear I didn't mean to do that, Park!"

The man shook his head as a single unharmed white ceramic cup rolled across the floor like the single survivor of a drive by shooting. "Miles, you couldn't have done that on purpose if you tried."

The panicked boy promised, "I'll pay for it!" Miles promised, "Just send me a bill!"

Park dismissed it all, "Don't worry about it, that's what insurance is for, I‘ve seen worse this week. Sheena and Eugene came in Wednesday, and Eugene was on top of his game." Park pointed behind himself with his thumb as he shook his head with regret, "That's why we have all new koi fish; he accidentally knocked the lamp next to the bridge into the pond and electrocuted them all."

Miles' eyes were open wide at that revelation. “Crap!” Hoping to make some of what he had done partially right, Miles stepped forward to help Park pick up everything off the floor. The flabbergasted man held up both his hands in a halting gesture and waved them from side to side with widened eyes in semi panic, “No, no, no, Miles, that’s okay; you go on ahead and have a seat.” The wary man pointed to a chair at the opposite end of the table. "Over there, sit there, buddy. Your head looks like it hurts anyway, and you don't need to bend over." Park generously offered, "I'll finish cleaning this up."

Grateful Courtney wasn't there to see his clumsiness or any of the wary looks Park was giving him; Miles sat down in a chair by the window with a breathy sigh, and let his arm fall down in heavy exasperation on the table. As the table swayed with the force of his unintentional hard blow, the poor boy watched the salt and pepper shakers fall down as if they were shot in a drive-by, and tried to grab the shimmering lit candle in the red glass bowl before it too tipped over.

The swift boy was able to stop the majority of wax in the candleholder from spilling out of the bowl, and soaking into the tablecloth, but the splash of hot wax that did escape ran across his clumsy arm, and the flame from the candle affectionately licked it as well.

Out of reflex to the accident, and both the sound of the crackling hair on his arm, as well as the searing discomfort that bordered on pain, Miles yelped, "Shit!" As Park watched the boy out of reflex sling warm, semi-solid wax onto his freshly cleaned windows, and him, he conceded defeat and sighed.

After settling, the regretful boy began to pick the soft unforgiving wax off the web of his hand, and he gave him intermittent sheepish looks along, Park asked as he began scraping wax off the window, “Are you okay?”

Miles admitted, "Yeah, I'm not burnt or anything, just a little singed arm hair."

With a snort, park proclaimed, “Kinda’ of smells like one of Katrinka’s perms.” While Park fanned away the faint stench of burnt arm hair from his nostrils, Miles began picking molten wax off his arm; and Park knew that there was no way that Helga and Arnold Shortman could ever deny that Miles was the product of their union.

Examining his nearly destroyed environment, Miles forwarded with a sigh, "Well, I guess we need to leave soon, I think I've done all the damage I can tonight, Park."

The good-natured man smiled, and shrugged, "The night is still young, Shortman." When Park saw the boy being too hard on himself again, he shook his head, and dismissed, "I was just joking, Miles, I told you not to worry about it, its okay."

As the clumsy boy cut his eyes at Park, then looked to the side as he finished the process of picking the rest of the cool, but pliable wax away from the red spot on his hand and arm, he made an apology, "I'm sorry I said the brown word too."

"Miles please; I've known your sister for years." With another comforting slap, Park assured, "Besides, that was pretty tame, you should hear half of what is said in the kitchen on any given day."

Miles smirked, "Yeah, Courtney told me."

Park couldn't help but notice that Miles kept surreptitiously checking behind himself looking for the return of the girl whom he was so obviously interested in, but trying desperately not to appear to be. As the strong man hefted the tray full of shattered ceramics to the kitchen to throw away, Park nodded towards the door, "I've got to go upstairs and settle the receipts for the day." Miles nodded as Park pointed towards the front doors. "When you two are ready to leave, don't worry about the doors," Park cautioned, "They're set to be locked from the outside, so be sure you have your jackets and everything because you won't be able to get back in again."

Miles shot his thumb up, and acknowledged, "Gotcha'!"

The man laughed, then looked kindly towards Miles, as he observed his swollen face a last time, “You two be careful driving home tonight, okay?”

Miles grinned, "We will, and thanks for dinner again."

"You're both always welcome here, Miles." Park added, "Also please do me a favor, and tell those two sorry devils Kyo and Gertie to get off their butts and come see me, and when they do, tell them chow is on the house, would you?" Miles grinned because Park was crazy about Kyo and in love with Gertie, but before he could the kind man, he ended with a mischievous wink, “Tell Fu I said goodnight too.”

The obedient boy nodded, with a thumb extended upwards, "I promise that I will do all of the above, Chief."

"Behave yourself with Fu tonight." The man balanced the overburdened tray of broken dishes on his shoulder, cracked a wicked smile, then pointed his index and middle fingers in a V shape towards his eyes with his right hand, and then pointed back at Miles with a single index finger. "Eyes are everywhere."

The boy’s eyes widened, and with that, Park walked towards the back with a wicked grin, leaving Miles alone with his thoughts to pick the scant the remnants of wax off his arm, and wonder what in the hell that was all about.

Now that he picked his arm clean and there was nothing left on the table that he could eat but packets of artificial sweetener, sugar, pepper, and salt, Miles had nothing but his own thoughts to occupy him. Soon he was taking obsessive multiple glances towards the bathroom area checking to see if Courtney was coming out or not.

The girl had been in the restroom for a long time, and if Miles didn't know that the hallway that leads to the restrooms was a dead end, he might have wondered if Courtney had had second thoughts about him, and run out the back to ditch him.

Miles shook his head and pulled his fingers through his hair in shameful frustration at himself, because the sweet girl that he had spent his evening with would never ever do anything that mean to him, or anyone else for that matter, even if this were a bad date.

Was this a date?

This was definitely a date, not only just a date, a wonderful date and Courtney seemed to be having a good time with him. If she didn’t want to be with him that evening, Courtney never would have agreed to come here to eat with him in the first place, and it wasn’t just because she was hungry, and he had offered to pay either.

Anyway, food was involved, and Courtney shared her glass of tea with him even though his lips were a little greasy, she wasn’t repulsed by it, so this definitely was a date.

Miles wasn't even going to go near that box of stuff he gave Courtney in his mind. He did have to think though, that if Courtney were tempted to break and run away from him at any point that day; it would have been after she read that crazy letter he wrote her.

At first, Miles thought that she really had run away from him in front of Slausen's, but she explained later that it was not because of him, but for some reason her, and apologized for that too.

Looking up at the gilded dragons and phoenixes that were gazing down at him in what looked like sympathy above his head on their red and green tiles, Miles knew that he truly meant every word he said to Courtney in that letter.

However how true, the boy couldn't help but ruminate over the contents of the letter from the moment he gave it to her, up until that very second, and he wondered if he should have dropped the "L" word so soon. The word love had many different meanings, and Miles didn't want Courtney to think he was confused over his meaning of it.

Like he said, Miles didn't love her like he had a shy, silly little puppy love crush, nor was he infatuated with her looks, harboring an animalistic physical attraction. It was true Courtney was obviously beautiful, there was no way anybody could miss that, but he really did love her outside of those attributes.

No matter how many times he thought and re-thought his motivations, Miles realized that they were for the right reasons, just like he said in the letter, because of the good, sweet, all around wonderful person that she was, and the endearing ways in which she demonstrated it.

No, Miles had convinced himself, he knew that he had done the right thing in telling Courtney he loved her in the letter, because he had lied to her in the worst possible ways for years, and he both respected, and yes, loved her enough to finally tell her the truth about what was dwelling in his heart.

She deserved to know the truth actually, because God knew she had put up with him, and had earned it out of him, if nothing else to clear the air.

Miles figured that with an eyeful like that letter, a lot of the other girls he knew would have slapped his face, told him to go to Hell, called the cops, or done all three. Instead, Courtney thanked him for the things he gave her, and forgave him for being a jerk to her for years, so obviously from that moment on he had started with a clean slate.

On the walk to her car, the surprised boy found that he and Courtney shared many common interests and over dinner, things got tremendously better if possible.

The girl he loved had a great sense of humor, and not only did Courtney not laugh when he was in discomfort, but she helped him when he was stupid and ate that hot oil after she clearly tried to warn him not to.

Even better, when he admitted that he didn't know what he was going to study in college, instead of making him feel like a worthless loser, or stupid, Courtney made him feel he was special, even when he felt as he had no talents or anything useful to offer the world at all.

How many girls would do that? Not many he knew, except for maybe Gertie, but that was completely different, because his sister would not be as outwardly gentle as Courtney was, and she would be more prone to cover up any kindness with her tough girl act that everyone saw through.

Overall, Miles knew Courtney was the perfect mix of everything he could have hoped to find in a girl and much more. Where was he going to find someone like this anywhere else in the world?

Nowhere was where, and based on his experience that night, Miles genuinely felt that Courtney liked him too, at least enough to be friends and hang out together which was something he wanted to continue.

Perhaps fate had given him a chance to make things right, too many things happened that day for everything to have just been a coincidence. Maybe he should listen to his own beliefs, realize that there were no mistakes in life, and perhaps he should not be so foolish as to squander what had to be a boon given by the Universe as a second chance with Courtney.

Why shouldn't he just say what he had on his mind and be done with it? Courtney hadn't rejected him yet had she? It wasn't like he was asking her to move in, marry him, get a box of kittens, and have his children or something; he just wanted her to know with no doubt that he meant what he said about loving her.

They were the same words; he would just be saying them instead of writing them, right?

The now resolved boy leaned forward and checked the time on the clock on the wall, and it was getting closer and closer to the time in which he needed to get home. In the meantime, Miles hoped that he would be able to meander into a good way to tell Courtney something that had been on his mind since they had walked to her car after Kyo's cookout without being weird or it coming off as not being genuine.

Even though he had already done it once that day, it was one thing to tell someone that they were in love on paper, but different to just come out, and say it aloud in person, no matter how true it was, or how right it felt.

Miles knew it was crazy to love Courtney the way he did, and that she couldn't possibly feel the same way about him because they didn't know each other that well, but he couldn't help how he felt, and needed to express it.

Miles just hoped that he had the courage to follow what his instincts told him was the correct thing to do, which was saying he truly loved her.

Feeling nervous, but full of hope, Miles picked through the receptacle at the end of the table, got out a few packets of sugar, began tearing them open, and pouring the sweet granular contents into his mouth, because his throbbing forehead, and second guessing himself resulted in a pounding headache.

* * *

As the generic soundtrack to every Chinese restaurant in creation quietly seeped through small speakers in the brightly fluorescent lit, light blue painted restroom, Courtney sighed and studied herself in the mirror as she finished washing her hands.

After pulling down several paper towels from the dispenser, she dried them, and then mopped up the pooled water that was standing on the throwback seventies off white, and gold flecked Formica covered counter that framed the two clean white sinks. When satisfied that she had adequately cleaned her mess of water and soapsuds, Courtney threw the damp towels away in the bin below the dispenser and examined her surroundings.

Courtney never fully understood the cult of the woman’s room until that moment.

From humorous scenes in movies, and vicarious experience in watching her contemporaries at school, a women’s restroom was not solely a place in which one went to relieve oneself or to groom, but more like an exclusive club with no cover charge, and all the chairs had water-filled holes in the bottom of them.

Once ensconced inside the safe confines of the private room, girls would preen and for ask advice on their appearance, try to tweeze understanding out of the perplexing behavior of boys, console one another over the fruitless pursuit of the former, or gossip about various benign or vicious things that often were none of their concern.

At that moment, the questioning girl certainly wished that Gertie, Jeneane, some female, any female, was there with her to give her some much needed advice to help her figure out just what Miles Shortman's deal was.

Perhaps in the process, maybe Courtney could figure out hers too.

As the soft violin music continued to whine her away to exotic oriental destinations, Courtney sighed, and thought that Miles was probably wondering if she had fallen in. Hospitality only went so far, and Courtney knew that Park wanted to close soon. She should be going back out so that they could leave, but she had thinking to do too.

Therefore, instead of leaving, she pushed her purse to the side, pulled herself up onto the counter with a sigh with her mind gravitating to both the events of the evening, and everything that had been boring a hole through her head all afternoon and evening.

Had she misunderstood, or was she misdirected and incorrect?

Even though earlier she made up her mind not to let thoughts like this cross her mind anymore, Courtney couldn't help but wonder if Miles really meant that he loved her in that letter.

It was true that they had enjoyed a wonderful evening with each other so far, and Miles had been a perfect gentleman, but love was a strong word, and possessed of many different meanings.

She had to admit that no matter the strength of her desire, maybe Miles felt guilty about the way he had treated her, and she misunderstood his apologies and attempts to make it up to her as a romantic overture.

No matter how much, or how hard she tried to employ her greatest talent, sabotaging herself, there was no way to mistake the glaring second chance at something she had wanted for a long time.

The evidence of such was the poor boy's battered face, and the lovely, yet exhaustive letter Miles wrote her that collapsed the scaffolding that her doubts were built from.

That day, not only did Miles apologize to her in his letter, he went one better, and admitted that he loved her, and for a time that was much longer than she thought possible.

Added to that, the thoughtful boy gave her pullover back, and offered her a box bursting to the brim, full of obsessive proof of the love he purportedly felt for her, that she temporarily found suspect.

The fact that Miles went out on a limb to risk it all and let her into his mind, even his heart, should have already proved that this was not simply just a friend’s outing, or a means to assuage the guilt he confessed to feeling, so she could only conclude that Miles must truly care for, and love her.

After becoming comfortable with each other's presence, he had also been flirting with her, and as Courtney so astutely remembered, the flattery hadn't been entirely one sided either.  
Courtney rolled her eyes at herself with her face in her hand, because she had also indulged in some of her own cheesy flirtatious behavior with Miles several times over the course of the evening.

From what Courtney could glean from Miles' reaction to it, he didn't reject the attempts, but quite the contrary, seemed enjoy it, and reciprocated numerous times.

In frustration, Courtney sighed, pulled herself off the counter, and turned around face the reflection, and what she saw.

With both elbows locked and palms firmly planted on the counter between the two sinks, the judgmental girl studied herself harshly. Courtney turned front ways, and then examined herself from both sides for a few moments, and when done she was disgusted to find nothing she was looking for; and everything she wasn't.

Acquaintances and even complete strangers told her that she was as lovely as her mother was, but with a frustrated sigh, in Courtney's mind the mirror proved that she was nowhere near the ravishing beauty that Rhonda Lloyd Gammelthorpe had been.

By then Courtney's mood was even lower because even though she liked Miles a lot and wanted to be his friend, definitely even a little more, the clueless girl had to wonder what it was that Miles saw in her.

Miles, who was extremely smart, handsome, and popular; could easily have his pick of any eager girl who trod the halls of Hillwood High.

She on the other hand, was eccentric, to put it nicely, a loner, a complete and total nerd, and certainly no great beauty.

There were much better girls roaming around, so why had he picked her?

For a few moments, Courtney just glared at herself, wishing she could be anyone else but Courtney, however she was distracted from the foolish dark dissection of herself by the speakers mounted in the ceiling.

Being a relatively accomplished musician able to improvise with some skill, Courtney didn't know how they did it, and quite frankly didn't want to because of its bizarre nature, but she was forced to admire that somehow someone in the known universe managed to perform the rather interesting rendition of 'Groove Tonight' she was listening to at the moment.

It was not the first generic approach she had ever listened to, but all the other examples of the song were rather contemporary, and commonplace. This twisted version however, was performed with a flute, violins, and one extremely out of place instrument; an accordion, and to Courtney's surprise as a novice composer herself, the piece actually worked.

Her mother and father's song, this version was definitely weird enough for her father Thad to fall in love with it, but Courtney had doubts that even her mother could embrace this creative version of the dance floor classic. It was like pairing orange paisley with red polka dots and only someone with no shame whatsoever could dance to it, and keep their pride intact.

With some thought though, the girl reasoned that even Rhonda Wellington Lloyd could surprise the hell right out of you when least expected and display tastes that veered into the eccentric, that wonderful fact proven when she replaced her last name of Lloyd with Gammelthorpe.

With a warm smile at the memory when she was little, many of Courtney's bedtime stories would revolve around her parents' odd courtship or their adventures together before she was thought of.

The hopeless romantic in her adored the miracle that a color matching fashionista and a total geek could become a couple. It was a sweet and fun story to hear that much later gave her hope in regards to an unrequited love that she, like her eccentric father, had harbored for years.

All of the tales surrounding her parents' dates were good, but Courtney's favorite story by far was the one about the first dance they shared together at their high school senior prom.

Every time her mother would dramatically start the story, her clever father would sweep into Courtney's room, sneak up on Rhonda from seemingly nowhere, and the couple would dance as they both took turns telling the story about how they tried to top each other on dance moves that evening. Towards the end of the tale, to Courtney's delight, Thad would dip her mother so low to the floor she often wondered if her father was going to hit her head, or drop her onto it, but he never did.

After the dance was over, Rhonda playfully ruffled the hair on Thad’s head, and religiously ended the story with the insight that she wished she had followed her instincts and left that night with her father instead of the ill-mannered boy who had been her date.

Afterwards, her mother would sit by her on the bed, touch her nose with her index finger, and admonish, "Always trust your instincts, Darling, and your first feelings in all matters are the best, correct and will never ever lead you astray." As Rhonda would hand Courtney her favorite stuffed animal, a large orange giraffe with a black tiger stripe pattern, she would add, "Remember that, Munchkin, and you'll save yourself a lot of trouble down the road."

After he kissed both his daughter and then wife in turn, Thad would always jokingly ask, "What is it that you see in me that makes you stick around then, 'Rhon? I do nothing but give you an endless supply of trouble."

Rhonda would just grin, place her fingers on her chin feigning deep thought, then in a wistful tone and a sly wink would say to her wisecracking husband with a sweet kiss on the cheek, "I just see it, Tiger." Then her mother would say with a lilt, "Besides, there's something to be said for a little trouble now and then."

Then they'd share that look that she knew what it was now that she was older, they would tuck her into bed with generous kisses on her cheeks, tell their only daughter that she was loved more than anything else in the whole wide world. Then they would walk away with their arms around one another, closing her door to a crack.

The smile on Courtney's face died, because she knew she would never have the fairy tale romance like her parents did and it broke her heart.

Wanting to cry because she was frustrated with damn near everything, Courtney stood in front of the mirror trying to figure out what was wrong with her. "Why do you do this to yourself?"

Even though it was obvious all along, Courtney realized that her mother would tell her that she should only be concerned with what she wanted, thought, and nothing else. As a stinging sensation radiated across her eyes, Courtney willed herself not to cry, and she realized that Rhonda Wellington Lloyd Gammelthorpe never backed down when she wanted something, and did not quit until she had gotten it.

As the stronger girl paced in a straight line back and forth in the small restroom, Courtney realized that it wasn't Tim, Todd, James, Miles; or other mean spirited rabble of people who dismissed her that held her back, but her own attitudes about herself that did.

She realized that she had ostracized herself from everyone, not the other way around, and that she had been extremely foolish for allowing others to determine who and what she was, instead of believing in herself.

With the realization of just how dumb she had been, Courtney felt terrible shame because cutting herself off from people and being in near constant state of self-doubt was no way to live; and even worse, she had been a coward.

By letting her fears of rejection and failure rule her, Courtney had disregarded all the love and confidence both her parents lavished on her ever since she could remember, and by doing such, it was just as good as slapping both of them in the face. After the much needed talk that she and Gertie had, it made Courtney realize how lonely she was, how truly tired she was of it; and how ready for a change she was in what she had come to realize as of late, had become a colorless life.

As far as knowing what she wanted went, Miles had said in his letter that he didn't deserve her, or have a right to ask for her forgiveness, but Courtney happily granted it because he had proven there was much more to him than she previously thought.

Again, after her talk with Gertie, Courtney realized that despite herself, no matter what Miles did, she never truly stopped loving him. She knew that his goodness was there all along, she just forgot it for a little while.

Only then did Courtney know that it didn't matter what she felt her shortcomings were, for they didn't matter to Miles, and that everyone but she seemed to notice that the boy cared for her.

In a round about way, her mother was the first to tell her, Kyo was the second, Gertie the third, and even her father had given Miles his blessing that day.

It was not important for Courtney to know what Miles saw in her now, just that he did see it, and she wanted him too.

Realistically, Courtney had to admit that she wasn’t quite sure what she and Miles were at that moment. The two of them were not enemies anymore, but sort of friends; who strangely enough, had managed to fall for one another against their best efforts.

Miles and she had great deal of things outside of love in common too, and wonderful things to learn from each other too before she could properly attach a label to them.

Granted it was unorthodox to say the least, but no matter the nature of their confusing relationship in the past, as well as in the future, Courtney knew for sure that she would never know what she and Miles could possibly be if she didn't take a chance in the present.

In that moment, Courtney easily made up her mind.

Just as her mother told her, she couldn't love until she opened her heart, and the hopeful girl's instincts told her that there was no better place to start than with Miles, because he had let her into his, and Courtney found to her delight that it was a lovely place to be.

With a light sigh from what felt like her soul, for the first time in too long a time, Courtney was unburdened, comfortable in her own skin, and it felt so good.

As she studied herself reborn, a tiny pinpoint glint of light coming from the inside of her unzipped purse caught her eye and she looked down to the side. Knowing exactly what it was, Courtney reached down into the handbag and produced the silver and gold scalloped lipstick tube that once belonged to mother, now her.

As she rolled the smoothly textured, cool metal object in her fingers, Courtney looked inside the purse again, and found the royal blue headband that she had tucked inside when Gertie was treating her nosebleed earlier in the evening. Courtney had meant to put it back on when she played football to control her hair, but was glad she didn't. If she hadn't, the headband would be soaked with sweat, and by now, after spending time milling around in the bottom of her purse, would smell rather unappealing.

Grateful that it was unblemished and still smelling of her favorite perfume, Courtney took off her glasses, pulled the headband over her head, then back up and over her forehead. Then she placed her glasses back on and pulled two thin strands of her bangs out, allowing those to frame her face.

As a final addition, because her mother said every girl should have a little whether she needed it or not, Courtney traced her lips with the lovely, deep rose-colored lipstick her mother loved, finishing its application by pursing her lips together to spread it.

After blotting, and then some study, and rumination, Courtney decided that she didn't look too terribly bad after all, but was disappointed that she could do nothing more to alter her appearance with the scant amount of cosmetics at her disposal.

After a last check and final primp of her hair, she gave herself a last check. "Okay, Mom, I'm taking your advice." With a sigh and clear vision of what she wanted, Courtney turned her eyes upwards. "Wish me luck."

When the nervous girl walked down the hallway from the restrooms, and saw Miles still sitting patiently at the table for her return, she hoped the evening would end with him being a regular fixture in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Arnold was created by Craig Bartlett, and is owned by Viacom Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> Thundercats was created by Ted Wolf, and is the property of Time-Warner Inc. No infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.
> 
> Transformers and its related character names are the property of Hasbro Inc, under license of Takara/Tomy Ltd. of Japan. No infringement on their properties is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The song Let's Groove was written by Maurice White, and Wayne Vaughn, performed by the group Earth, Wind, and Fire, and is owned by Colombia Records Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from The Maxwell Implosion song From Mousy to Marvelous, located on the album "Small Circle of Friends".


	15. Reminiscing

With a regretful sigh, Miles checked his watch and saw that it wasn't long until his and Courtney's curfew was up.

In lieu of the events of the day, he didn't want to try his parents’ patience by getting home late, and God only knew what was going to happen to him when he told Gertie what happened to her phone.

Miles hadn't ever lied about losing or breaking one before, but he was tempted to this time despite the fact that his parents promised that he would be paying for this costly replacement himself. Miles just knew that before his evening came to an end, the question, "Again?" was going to be exclaimed at him rather loudly at some point, that is if Gertie didn’t kill him first.

Even though he was worried, still, the fine surfeit of food he enjoyed earlier had its way with him and the drowsy boy began to nod off. Soon enough, Miles was napping as comfortably as possible on the small, hard, vinyl covered, metal framed chair he sat on, but not before swiping away a tiny trickle of drool that was tickling his swollen lip while he was half asleep.

* * *

A few minutes later, Courtney left the restroom, sneaking up behind Miles with the intention of giving him a small start, but he was leaning back in the chair, his head slightly tilted backwards, with his arms to the side. She couldn't see his eyes yet, but as quiet as he was, it looked like he might be asleep. Despite Mr. Hierl’s vigilance and threats of draconian reprisals, Miles managed to nap undetected in his history class all the time. Seeing how long she had been in the restroom, she wouldn’t be surprised if he was asleep now, especially after the large meal they had enjoyed.

Upon much closer inspection, and a loving look as he snoozed with a slightly open mouth, Courtney brushed the wild blond locks back off the poor boy’s bluing forehead gently with her fingers. She would have touched his shoulder to wake him, but before she got a chance, a loud snort came out of the back of Miles' throat and nose, forcing Courtney to raise her hand to her mouth so she wouldn't rudely wake him with a laugh.

With a blush at the mere thought of such, Courtney was tempted to place her soft lips on the painful looking lump on Miles’ head to rouse him. Based on his written confession, he probably wouldn't mind, but after some thought she decided against the idea. Simply because Miles was kissable, and she wanted to, it didn't give her license to be so forward, that, and she'd leave fresh lipstick behind in the shape of her lips.

Courtney's nurturing instinct did permit her to snatch a tissue from her purse and gently dab it on the corner of Miles' lower lip because he was drooling a bit. The caring girl didn't find his loss of control funny at all however, gathering that his puffed and painfully cracked lip was the culprit. While tending Miles, she cast loving glances over his face, and wished that there were something nice that she could do for him to make up for all the pain that he had endured on her behalf and from her that day.

After a check of her watch, the doting girl hated to bother the boy because he looked so peaceful and so blooming cute, but she and Miles could not possibly stay out all night, much less squat in Park's restaurant either. Ultimately, after a few moments of observation, Courtney chose to rouse the sleeping boy from his nap with a gentle touch on the shoulder and a soft vocalization so as not to shock him. "Miles?"

The boy answered half-awake, with his eyes slightly open, "Uh?"

Courtney choked down a good-natured laugh at the bizarre, but cute way he looked and then joked by whispering in his ear with a gentle, motherly inflection, "Breakfast."

Miles jerked backwards and upwards in his seat with surprise, and then informed with a forceful, but groggy declaration while swiping under his chin. "I don't like oatmeal!"

Courtney thought that she just might have to remember that someday while Miles' attention darted around his surroundings, seemingly confused. As Courtney grinned down at him from behind his chair, she said cheerily, "Welcome back to the land of moving parts."

Miles said sleepily, but with a smile, "Thanks, Jazz." She stepped back as the boy stretched, and then opened his eyes completely, and when he did, he saw Courtney's freshly made face, and new hairstyle. Despite the fact that Miles didn't know how she did it, the lovely girl had improved on perfection, and had become even more beautiful than ever. Rather than blurt that factual observation out, and make himself look like what he thought would be an even bigger idiot for the umpteenth time that night, the boy smoothly apologized as he rubbed his eyes, "Sorry I fell asleep on you, I just got so comfortable,"

Clueless as to how he could possibly get comfortable in a chair like that, Courtney blushed and held up her hands, interrupting his needless apology. "No, Miles, I'm sorry I kept you so long. It wasn't very considerate of me."

"Nah, don‘t worry about that," Cheerfully he informed, “I like a little nap.” As Courtney gave him a strange look Miles got up, stretched, gathered his green, orange, and beige letter jacket, and then tucked it under his arm as he pointed at the ceiling. "Park had to go upstairs to do some kind of paperwork a little while ago, but he asked me to tell you good night, and to make sure that you have all of your belongings. When we leave, the doors are set to let us out, but lock from the outside, so we won't be able to get back in once they're closed."

Courtney shrugged as she placed her single item on the edge of the table, and patted it. "I just have my purse."

Miles nodded and then pushed his hands through the arms of his jacket and pulled the garment up onto his shoulders. "Are you ready to go?"

Courtney zipped the opening of her warm pullover halfway up, slung her purse up onto her shoulder with a warm smile, and then declared with a playful lilt, "Ready to roll whenever you are, Monkeyman fan."

As Courtney walked away from him with a slight, pleased smile playing on her lips, Miles shook his head and mouthed to himself with an odd feeling at the new term of friendship, "Monkeyman Fan?" Courtney turned after she had taken a few steps away to look at Miles when she noticed he was not following. Snatching up a last packet of sugar, Miles sounded exactly like his godmother might as he answered her unasked question, "Coming."

* * *

After having failed in several attempts to get into clubs on the street because they were not the legal age of twenty one, the young men walked down the less crowded sidewalk adjacent to Fung Chong's arguing about what to do next. When the three looked across the way into the restaurant window, the aimless boys found a much more interesting diversion.

Hidden by the shadows of parked vehicles that they crouched behind, the boys looked through the front window of the restaurant's dining area with growing interest from across the street, watching Miles and Courtney interact.

After a short, foul conversation, and some lackluster planning, the despicable trio stealthily shuffled as they ducked down behind cars, and the few people walking on their section of sidewalk, stalking the intended victims of their cruel attentions.

When they felt it was safe, the miscreants crossed the street a few buildings down, searching in earnest for hiding places to lie in wait for the teenaged couple.

Unknown to the stupid boys who were spying on the sidewalk across the street, or the blissfully ignorant couple leaving the restaurant below, kneeling down on the dry rubber coated roof of Fung Chong's, was a sixth set of eyes.

The brave vigilante of Hillwood City, known as Monkeyman, witnessed the exchange between the three boys and heard it quite clearly with the aid of a pistol shaped listening device.

As the three morons snuck away, fanning out to carry out their cruel plan, Monkeyman calmly replaced the useful tool back into his supply belt, and then removed a pair of small, high-powered binoculars. Adjusting the lenses to track the movements of all the parties involved, he wondered how to approach the situation without causing future problems for him.

Any other time, the benevolent protector could follow easily along the rooftops, but seeing as his smarting leg was being held together by sutures sewn by a woman who was, but was not a doctor; the dark avenger felt it prudent to take as few jarring steps as possible, saving his strength.

As his keen eyes scanned the sidewalk, aided by state of the art military night vision optics, Monkeyman followed the movements of the three boys outside, then oblivious teenaged couple standing in the lobby of Fung Chong’s. While he did, he wondered if he should interfere in the three troublemakers' plans to ruin the kids’ evening by neutralizing them before they were even a threat.

It was true that Monkeyman was the sworn defender of the weak and downtrodden of Hillwood City, and he did promise to protect Rhonda’s daughter with his life if need be, but he wasn’t an ordained minister of revenge either. Doing so was not in his code of conduct and it would be highly frowned upon by his support team and equipment supplier.

Ultimately, the vigilante decided that the insults and taunts to come, no matter how unpleasant, were not his trespasses to handle; and unless the interactions turned physical against anyone he was safeguarding, he remembered his responsibility to serve as an observer only.

Monkeyman realized that it wasn't against the law to be an asshole by any stretch of the imagination, because if it were, half the population of the world would be locked away from sight.

Taking a moment to think of how nice that truly would be, Monkeyman monitored the final movements of the three boys. He wasn't surprised to find that the cowards had chosen a section of sidewalk to lie in wait for the couple that was dark, had an alleyway to one side, obstacles at the roadside, and had few people around to interfere.

Monkeyman had no use whatsoever for any of the immature boys as they chuckled like schoolgirls, and shared wicked glances, but as he grimly eyed one of the toadies and then thought of his father who was no better, he no longer wondered why the boy thought he could do whatever he wanted.

Instead of the boy's father enforcing the law with the respect and trust the high office he occupied demanded, or simply just obeying the law at all, the reprobate chief of Hillwood City Police Department used his power to help his friends, and even worse, frequently troublesome son evade the reach of due process.

That was bad enough, but there were also rumors of inappropriate behavior behind closed doors in regards to money passed under tables in the form of payoffs for favors that the chief accepted to make evidence in criminal cases conveniently disappear.

The dark avenger of Hillwood City, not to mention his underwriters, would like to put a permanent stop to the chief's indiscretions, but until he provided binding evidence of wrongdoing, the mayor of the city apologetically said that the law bound his hands.

Even though he had closeted support of Mayor Thaddeus Gammelthorpe, for the time being Monkeyman had to remember that he was already standing on a thin a sheet of ice with the police as it was.

Monkeyman knew that if the situation called for it and he was forced to interfere with the boys physically, the events would be twisted to make him look sinister; and he would most assuredly lose the popular opinion the public had of him and what few allies he had left on the police force.

Such a thing would play straight into the hands of his largest detractors, and justification for the chief of police to declare all out war on him.

Those matters pushed to the side for the moment to more immediate ones, Monkeyman watched the three stalkers move to their final hiding places, carefully positioning themselves to carry out whatever meanness their tiny minds had conjured.

As he continued to think about the motivations of the three teenage boys and observed their cocky smirks, Monkeyman was beginning to reconsider his neutrality, and the media driven backlashes against his service to the city.

* * *

Nearing the door, chivalrously, Miles hurried a little ahead of Courtney to open the first one for her, but when they exited, Courtney opened the second for Miles out of politeness. When they were both outside, and the door was finally closed, both kids tested it to make sure it locked by vigorously shaking the door before turning to walk down the street.

There was a slight breeze stirring, and despite the fact that the afternoon had been rather warm for the season, now it was cool and Courtney's arms were cold. The chilled girl rubbed her goose pimpled arms, and soon she was quickly beginning to wish that she had something on other than running shorts while the cold autumn air began to nibble at her uncovered legs worse than her slightly more insulated arms.

Grateful that she had a pair of track pants in her car, and shrugging off the mild discomfort of the cold for the moment, Courtney passed the last marble lion next to the sidewalk.

Making one last concession to the child kept warm in her heart, Courtney allowed her hand to run across the snarling lion's rough white, hard curled mane, petting it for luck.

Despite the fact that it was her special ritual and still felt a bit immature for doing such a thing, when Courtney turned to explain why she was petting a non-living animal with an abashed blush, she smiled warmly when she caught Miles doing the exact same thing. Soon the smile on Courtney's face cracked into a wide white grin when Miles shrugged and said, "You know, for luck."

As they walked, Miles removed the last packet of sugar he secreted in his pocket before they left the restaurant and tore it open, and then politely held it to the side, asking the girl who strolled beside him with a courteous tone, "Want half?"

Twirling her fingers in front of herself, Courtney said incredulously, "I can't believe you're eating plain sugar, Miles!"

The clever boy observed, "What with your tea drinking habits, I can't believe that it shocks you so."

The girl had to admit he had a point, so she gave in with a polite, "Touché, Shortman." When he motioned to her to take the packet to share, she waved her hand to the side, "No, you enjoy it.”

Miles dumped the contents of the white and blue packet into his mouth; simultaneously rearing his head back tapping the bottom of the envelope to make sure he got every grain of it out while Courtney shook her head. A kindred spirit after all, Miles would probably get along with her father quite well because she watched him dump the contents of the sugar bowl from her mother’s heirloom tea set directly into his mouth and not so much as bat an eye for years.

After licking his lips to make sure all the crunchy sweet granules were gone, Miles balled up the envelope of paper the sugar came in and aimed it at an open topped blue trash receptacle they were nearing. "Watch this." The deft boy bragged as he winked at Courtney and then shot, missing the garbage can entirely. Not even able to lie, and say he meant to have that outcome, Miles patiently waited to see if Courtney was going to tease him or not.

Unable to resist, Courtney wryly commentated, "Nothin' but sidewalk, Magic."

With a blush at missing, Miles was going to bend down and pick up the paper to throw into the can, but Courtney rushed forward, and picked it up for him. "No, no, I'll get it." The considerate girl bent over and reached down. "You don't need to stoop over with your head swollen like that and blood rushing to it will make it hurt worse." Miles’ head was tilted to the side with a smirk as the smart aleck girl rose and tossed it towards the open black void of the can, but despite the fact that she was no more than a foot away from the receptacle, she overshot it too. As the piece of paper bounced on the edge of the trash can, fell and then rolled underneath a parked car, with irritation, Courtney declared, "Awww, dang it!"

As she got on her hands and knees with a low grumble to fumble for the small ball of paper under the car, Miles fought a chuckle married with an unwanted observation as Courtney rose. "You're a worse shot than me, Shaq!"

Spying on the teens from two stories above, Monkeyman smiled fondly, because now, the raven-haired girl below resembled her upper class socialite mother Rhonda Wellington Lloyd Gammelthorpe so flawlessly it was comical.

Soon, the vigilante had to put his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing aloud as the young lady flicked the sugar wrapper into the trashcan with annoyance with a dirty look decorating her face. After dusting off her bare red knees, Miss Gammelthorpe crossed her arms and immediately turned her nose away from the young man with an aristocratic haughtiness that couldn't be _anything_ **but** genetic. For the first time that evening Monkeyman actually felt a bit of pity for the Shortman boy because the young lady below was doing the exact same thing Rhonda did to him when she made some sort mistake on their magical nights out.

Shamelessly enjoying the entertaining events unfolding, Monkeyman quietly snorted when Miss Gammelthorpe made a needless excuse for her own mistake. "Well, I'm a runner, and not on the basketball team now am I, Mr. Shortman?"

Miles’ worried expression made Courtney wonder if she were playing the game too seriously, but being unable to help herself and keep him dangling, her frown turned into a smile, a good-natured snicker, and then the two teens began laughing together. As Miles' laughter got louder, the girl admitted, "I can already see that you're going to make it extremely difficult to stay angry with you."

Miles grinned and declared with relief, "You say that like it's a bad thing!" The wise boy then observed, "Besides, I've seen you mad at me and you weren't mad at me anyway."

Courtney smirked as she pointed her finger at him playfully. "I think you were a little worried." Soon their good-natured laughter turned into comfortable silence as they strode side by side on the sidewalk that they had mostly to themselves.

While he took intermittent glances at Courtney, Miles was dying to put his arm around the girl's shoulder or at least take her hand, but instead of either action, he checked his watch. Not wanting his dream evening to end at all, the clever boy suggested with a hinting inflection and flirting eyes, "We've got plenty of time before we have to be home, 'Court, are you sure you don't want to go get some dessert somewhere?"

Courtney did not want to go home right then, in fact, the smitten girl wanted to tweeze every second she possibly could out of her evening with the enchanting boy. So even though she should be getting home and it was pushing her weekend curfew to limits she had never had reason to try before, it didn't take Courtney long to find a way to make a concession.

Crooking her head sideways and leaning upwards, looking past the thin, golden frames of her spectacles into Miles' enticing blue eyes, Courtney suggested after checking her own watch, "Well, come to think of it, there is an Italian market still open a couple of blocks over and they do make all sorts of delicious sorbets, and traditionally flavored gelati."

With a blush after an accidental brush of her fingers across Miles’ hand that she regretted pulling away because she wanted to grasp them, Courtney recommended with little thought, "You are out of sugar packets too, so I suppose that we could go there if your heart is just set on having something else sweet."

Miles, who was one, excited to see that Courtney was open to spending more time with him, two, her hand had touched his for the second time that night, and three, beyond elated that he'd get to go and eat something else, he shamelessly schmoozed. “Nothing is as sweet as you, Courtney, but,” Miles wondered ignorantly as the hidden second party perched above them exhaled through his nose shaking his head, “What’s gelati?”

While sporting a deep red blush at Miles' compliment, Courtney explained, "Well, gelati is the plural of gelato."

Miles wrapped his mouth around the tasty sounding word. "Gelato? Is that like gelatin?"

"It has a little in it as an ingredient, but gelato isn’t made entirely out of gelatin." Courtney's eyes rolled upwards as she asked with a lilt of non-belief, "Don't tell me you've never had gelato before?"

He shook his head negatively. "No, should I have?" Then with hope, he wondered, "Is it good?"

“Is it good?” Courtney asked incredulously, finding it a tragic miracle that Miles had actually never tried such a food item expounded, "It's only one of life's truly sublime dining experiences, Miles."

Miles had an impressed look on his face. "Sounds like another experience I gotta' have with you, what is it exactly?"

When movement caught the peripheral vision of his eye, Miles could have sworn that he saw something black dart away from edge of the building rooftop beside them as Courtney expounded. "Well, gelato in Italian literally means frozen and it is their style of what we call ice cream. Unlike the American ice creams that you are accustomed to, there's very little air whipped into gelato, so it is much denser. In addition to the density, gelato also has a higher fat content, and as a result of such; it is heavier, and richer too; so it has a different mouth feel when you eat it." In order to warn Miles so he wouldn‘t be disappointed, Courtney cautioned, "The servings are considerably smaller than what you'd get at Slausen's, but it's all really good, and you can get all sorts of different flavors."

Miles wondered, "Like what?"

"Well, there's almond, mint, cocoanut, vanilla, pomegranate, strawberry, just about any fruit flavor you can think of, and at a specialty gourmet store like Dioli's, there are usually over twenty flavors for you to choose from that change daily, and the server will always let you sample before buying." With an assured tone, Courtney ended, "Believe me, Miles, you'll love it."

"Well, it is food." As Courtney laughed, Miles eyed her with suspicion, "You'll let me buy you some won't you?" The kind boy begged as he barely caught himself from taking her hand to accentuate his willingness. "Please?"

The girl sighed as Miles gave her a pleading gaze and seeing as he had been adamant about making a purchase of some type all evening, so with a wry smile the clever girl politely acquiesced. "Okay, thank you ahead of time." With Miles' relieved look, Courtney added with a light, playful jab with her elbow into Miles’ arm. "I wish it were Christmas, since you're a jazz fan I would have suggested that you try the spumoni." Courtney added with a voice full of confidence, "Since that is a seasonal item, we'll see if we can't find you something else nice, like zabaione to put on your lips tonight." Miles gave Courtney a slight smile thinking of the encore kiss he had been fantasizing about since that fateful day at the playground as she added with caution, "I'm pretty full from dinner so I think I'll get a lighter sorbet if that's okay with you."

With a pleased tone, Miles nodded, "Deal."

Running out of roof and allowing a few feet between he and his charges so they wouldn't see him leaping across from them, Monkeyman readied himself for the jarring pain to come. Fully regretting his extremely fun, but highly immature romping run on the sidewalk in front of Fung Chong's when Helga's lidocaine was still acting, he prepared himself. Having held it off until the last possible moment, the pained man took a few steps back on the roof, and then sprinted across it to gain enough momentum to leap across a particularly wide gap between buildings to the next rooftop.

As soon as he leapt off the edge of the building he was standing on, the sore man knew immediately that he had been unable to gain enough speed to make it across to the other side.

The practiced athlete sailed through the air steadily losing speed; but Monkeyman pointed his straightened arm towards a water tank at the top of the adjacent roof, simultaneously pressing a black button on the inner web of his right glove. In an instant, a wrist mounted blue laser pointer helped him aim, and then with a harder push of his thumb, a small metal cylinder charged with pressurized carbon dioxide was punctured. Instantaneously, the escaping gas sent a spring-loaded grappling hook stored in a tube mounted on his arm to shoot through the air to instantaneously snap open, and hook onto the edged surface that it was aimed towards.

After raising his legs upwards and releasing the line he swung on, Monkeyman landed on his feet in a painful crouch upon the other rooftop, somehow resisting the urge to loudly curse through his gritting teeth. Feeling an odd tingle in his wound, he hurriedly felt the knotted ridges of the sutures on his leg with his gloved finger, finding that for whatever reason, his stitches managed to hold.

Quietly gathering himself, which was a formidable task in itself, Monkeyman peered down from two stories above, and saw two teens hiding in the alleyway, their leader crouched behind the high tailfins of a large, late fifties era car sharing glances at the others and snickering.

Despite the fact that he was injured, if it were any other situation, the man could have neutralized the threats relatively easily with minimal risk of exposure, but he decided to stay out of sight, observe, and not interfere unless things turned physical.

Monkeyman then turned his hiding crouch to the oblivious couple walking into the three boys' trap, wishing he could warn them in some way. The dark avenger was grateful though, because despite the fact that he truly was concerned, the most comforting fact about the entire situation was that the girl didn't really need his protection after all.

Even though he never witnessed the expertise Rhonda boasted about on their few and far between meetings, the capable woman that he trained to fight assured him that Courtney was much better at sparring than she ever thought of being.

Even though Monkeyman was immensely proud of the skills that he had spent years honing on the hard midnight streets and foreboding black alleyways of Hillwood City to near perfection, he had to admit that Rhonda was damn good at fighting herself.

Actually, Rhonda had rather easily kicked his ass in many of the grudge matches that they had secretly indulged in over the years, even when he was trying.

As such, Monkeyman didn't know how capably the young man accompanying the mayor's daughter could defend himself, and from the looks of his swollen, bruised face, not well, but he wasn't worried. If things did turn physical, and Miss Gammelthorpe was anything like her mother when angered beyond control, the three foolhardy boys tracking the couple would be in for a rude awakening and new understanding of pain if Courtney were not in a forgiving mood.

With a wide grin behind his cowl, and the most quiet, but impish chuckle he could muster, Monkeyman thought that he would rather enjoy watching that, actually.

* * *

Despite the fact that it wasn't quite time for her son to be home yet, for the fifth time in as many minutes, Helga put the telephone back on its receiver and left the kitchen deciding once again to not call Miles' cellular phone number to check up on him.

Stepping into the foyer to across to the living room, Helga felt she needed to realize that Miles was almost grown, and needed to let him have some space. If he was neglectful of the time and late getting home, it was his own doing, and he needed to accept the penalty for doing so.

At any rate, Helga definitely did not want to embarrass him in front of Thad's daughter by checking in on him like an overgrown baby, which was for probably nothing anyway.

However, no matter how much she tried to convince herself to the contrary, and that her boy would be in at any moment, she simply couldn’t help herself because for some reason she felt uneasy. In addition to those sentiments, Helga was also irritated with her seemingly un-concerned husband for not sharing the same dark outlook on their son’s welfare as she did. "I don't see how you can just sit there, and not wonder if Miles is okay or not!"

Not even bothering to look up from his paper, which only infuriated Helga more, Arnold confidently stated, "Miles is a big boy, he can take care of himself, and was it not you who more than insinuated that you didn't want the kids coming in until they just had to, to begin with?" When his wife cut him a dirty look, he sighed. "Believe me, if it was two in the morning, I'd have already called the cops myself, and be just as worried as you are!" Reasonably, he checked his watch. "As it stands now, he's still got plenty of time left to play with, and his curfew isn't even near up yet." The man assuaged, waving a dismissive hand. "You're worrying for absolutely nothing, 'Hon. " Taking his paper down for a moment to look at Helga, Arnold then added, "He's scraped in here by the skin of his teeth literally at the last minute before and you weren’t worried about him then."

Exasperated, Helga blew and flung up her arms theatrically, "When he left out of here this evening, his head looked exactly like yours!" Arnold had a funny look on his face at the mention of his interestingly shaped head and didn't know if he should be offended; and scowl, or laugh his ass off as Helga ridiculously questioned, "What if our baby boy is lying in an alleyway passed out somewhere getting pecked apart by pigeons or devoured by rats?"

In exasperation, Arnold settled for sighing at the very thought of Miles still being in his infancy in that day and time.

Their baby as Helga had just called their son was now nearly six feet tall, wore a size fourteen and a half wide shoe, and ate at least seven gargantuan meals a day, not unlike a starving elephant infested with intestinal worms.

Arnold scoffed with humor, "Pigeons are daytime feeders, and rats?" Surprised at the vivid nature of his wife's imagination, and after another well-placed glare at him, it was obvious that Helga was still mulling over the idea of calling Miles. Soon enough, the worried woman began circling the same stretch of worn green carpet once again like a great white shark around Abner, who was lying on his back in the middle of the floor napping with his chubby, slightly soiled hoofed legs curled back. Arnold pointed towards the fat, slumbering pink pig on the floor, and offered a solution, "If you're that worried about him, we can send Abner out to look for our boy and bring him back in."

Not appreciating Arnold's most likely correct, but irritatingly flippant attitude about their not yet tardy son, Helga remarked, "That stupid pig is smart, but he's not that smart, Shortman."

The slumbering swine let out a little snorting snore and his hind leg twitched as if he were dreaming of chasing cats while Arnold chuckled at Helga's complete lack of faith in the pig’s tracking skills. "And you spent entirely too much time with Grandpa, Shortman!" Seeking to take her mind off Miles for a moment, Arnold theatrically rustled the morning paper and folded it to a list of events the local authorities reported for the day. "Well looky here, Geraldine," Helga's nostrils flared in conjunction with Arnold's mischief filled voice and observation. "I see that crazy little roof hopping vigilante you like to smooch behind my back made the police and fire briefs again."

Helga sighed and rolled her eyes with a growl deciding to not even dignify Arnold's teasing about her friendship with the Monkeyman, or the use of her middle name again with an answer as she scooted past the narrow gap between the upholstered chair next to the living room window.

Arnold had a shit eating grin on his face when he theorized, "You're going to wear the cloth clean off the side of that chair off if you keep rubbing against it like that, Helga."

With an irritated snort, Helga observed, "Grandma Gertie sanded her ass against this side of the chair fifty times a day like a stripper after a tip to spy on every soul who parked outside this house when she was with us."

Arnold wrinkled his nose at the thought of his eccentric grandmother swinging around a stationary metal pole in the guise of an exotic dancer, most likely a pirate.

After some thought, Arnold wouldn't have put it past grandma to do something like that after witnessing the miscellaneous disguises she had worn around both the house, and in public over the years. Arnold was drawn from his revelry by, “Believe me, Football Head, the cloth is fine.”

Knowing better than to roll his eyes where Helga could see it because it could be lethal, the meddlesome man noted, "Boy, you really must be mad at me now, because I've never heard you call me that before!" Arnold lowered his creased paper just in time to catch yet another one of his wife's more unpleasant faces, reserved just for him, and then quickly retreated to the paper. “I wish you’d quit obsessing, I bet you five bucks that Miles rolls in here the last minute of his curfew and all this worrying is for nothing.”

As Helga watched the pendulum on the ancient clock hanging on the wall swing, she moved the drapes aside to peer outside once more, hoping to see a primer grey sports car dropping off her injured son. "As far as Miles coming in at the last minute, Arnoldo, he's always had Gertie with him, and it's not like Miles to stay out to the very last minute on weekend nights all by himself."

Arnold studied the lines of concern on Helga's forehead when she forwarded, "Miles seldom looks for trouble," Arnold cleared his throat in lieu of the day's events with his wife looking upwards, "However trouble hardly ever fails to have any difficulty in finding either him or his sister for that matter."

Arnold waved a dismissive hand with a smile, "Well, according to Gertie you don't have a thing to be worried about since Miles is not out by himself this evening, but with someone extremely special." The man said with a naughty lilt as Helga replaced the drapes in a disappointed motion to walk back to the middle of the living room floor so she could glare at him.

As it turned out, her best effort was wasted, Arnold didn’t even see it because he had his paper up once again, but that didn‘t stop him from talking. "I tell you one thing, Pop Tart, if I were out on a glorious Friday night before facing an indeterminate period of unsympathetic incarceration," Helga put her hands on her hips when Arnold tipped the corner of his paper down with shameless flattery. “With an earthshakingly gorgeous girl who used to say she hated me and we were out cruising around town in a Corvette,” Arnold’s eyebrow rose as his wife tapped her foot. "Believe me, I would stretch time out tight as I could, and come home at the last second too." With a wicked inflection, Arnold offered as he lowered his newspaper to look upon Helga with a grin that hinted at magnificent past experience, "Hell, I wouldn't want to come home at all."

Surprised that she was actually grateful for the reminiscent levity now, and the prurient attention her husband was generously giving her, Helga asked with a sideways smile, "We are still talking about Miles and Courtney aren't we?"

Arnold grinned, placed the paper to his side, got up, and wrapped his warm arms around his wife, kissing her cheek. "Look, if it were an hour past curfew I'd be as worried as you, but I bet you anything that those two are probably having the time of their lives right now as we speak." He sat, and then patted the cushion beside him for Helga to sit. "Besides, what kind of trouble could they possibly get into, Sweetie?"

Helga gave her husband a look, and then sighed in agreement. "You're probably right." She motioned with her waving hand. "Scoot over, voice of reason." Arnold moved to the side and Helga sat beside him while simultaneously snaking her arm across his comforting shoulders. Even though she was still troubled with thoughts of Miles, Helga still managed to toy with Arnold's soft blonde locks and the back of his sinewy neck as he picked up a pencil and began the crossword puzzle underneath the horoscopes.

Arnold studied the clues in the column, and asked Helga with a smile, "What's a three lettered word for a biblical beast of burden?"

Not even needing time to think, Helga looked straight-ahead and responded dryly, "Your daughter's most favorite one."

Arnold leaned his body to the side, craning his neck upwards so that Helga was forced to look downwards at him as she fought a smile while she desperately tried not to acknowledge his presence. In turn, he declared like a television game show host, "Ass it is!"

Finally giving in and laughing, Helga lightly pushed Arnold while shaking her head. "Good God, you're so full of it!" With a smile she poked the crossword with her index finger and wryly informed, "That's not even a clue in the puzzle!"

* * *

Miles cocked his head in curiosity, "So tell me more about this stuff we're going to go get, 'Court, I don't want to go in the store, ask for something wrong, and look like a total idiot."

"Believe me, you can't mess up an order of gelato, or I would have already done it." With a smile, she ended, "Everything you can order will go together basically."

Not liking another example of Courtney's self-deprecating humor, but choosing not to correct her, Miles questioned, "Oh, well, how do they make it?"

"The process is not unlike the one to make ice cream, just a little different. Chefs make a neutral base, freeze it in a special machine, blend in whatever fresh fruit or flavoring that they want the batch to taste like at the last possible moment, and then put it in a cold case for display; usually garnished with the flavor of the item. Since Gelato is soft, when you order, the server will either scoop it into a bowl or a cone depending upon your preference with a spatula and then you can have them put toppings on it like nuts and cookies, or just have the gelato plain."

Then he wondered as he eyed Courtney with his head tilted, "What's that zabaione stuff you were talking about?" Absolutely knowing he was wrong, but realizing that Courtney seemed to enjoy educating him, which won numerous Campfire Lass points in his favor, Miles hoped for a badge as he cleverly asked, "Is that the thing that they smooth ice rinks with?"

Above the kids, listening intently to the conversation, Monkeyman put his fingers on his forehead with a groan while massaging his temple and rolling his eyes at the utter corniness of Miles Shortman's well executed act of ignorant, but endearing local tourist.

While the dark avenger watched the boy apply his boundless charm and how surprisingly fast Miss Gammelthorpe lapped it up like the rich, creamy gelato she was describing, it was no surprise to him whatsoever how Miles' father Arnold had fallen so hard for Helga in such a brief period of time after her triumphant return to Hillwood City.

In fact, Ms. Pataki owned Arnold heart and soul in less than a month without trying and without her even knowing that immutable fact until much later, but it was quite easy to understand how she accomplished so easily.

Arnold's less than exemplary girlfriend at the time treated him rather badly but aside from that, Helga Pataki, was the polar opposite of the hateful woman.

Not only being both unfailingly kind and generous, the Olympian was also _achingly_ attractive.

What with her smooth, charming demeanor and handsome looks married with those gorgeous blue eyes, Helga was damn near irresistible. Few people, especially men, had the will to refuse one of her requests. God knew that Helga Shortman had extracted several somewhat questionable favors out of him with great ease over the years of their friendship, though the fruits of such consistently yielded results for the greater good.

Therefore, observing with a measure of concern, Monkeyman could clearly see that Miles had apparently inherited his gifted mother's ability to captivate; and the lovely young woman walking beside him was now officially, a goner.

When the masked man exhaled an unintentionally heavy sigh at the unfolding events, instinctually Courtney looked upwards at the rooftop but when she did, she saw nothing.

Shaking it off as an illusion, Courtney explained to Miles, "The Zabaione I mentioned earlier is a custard flavored gelato, and extremely smooth." She cautioned, "It is different, but not so exotic that you might not like it." Then she passed on a bit of insider information. "But, just because a store sells gelato, it doesn't necessarily mean that it is good though, and you have to be careful where you go to get it." Miles' eyebrow rose when the wiser girl added, "The best way to ascertain if the store you're in is a good one or not is to ask for a sample of their lemon sorbet."

"What’s special about that flavor in particular?" Miles wondered.

"If the sorbet smells and tastes of fresh lemons, chances are that all of the products in the store are made using fresh ingredients as opposed to artificial ones." Courtney added cautiously, "Believe me, there's a big difference and you will be able to tell it."

Miles rubbed his head, wondering if he was asking too many questions, but he was genuinely interested, "Well, you mentioned them earlier, what are some of the more odd flavors?"

The girl's eyes rolled upwards, "A year ago I had rose flavored gelato in Milan and it was divine."

"Roses?" Miles spat out as if it was the most bizarre thing he ever heard, "Like made out of flowers that you buy to give somebody?"

Courtney laughed, "Well, yes, some chefs use rose oil, but purists use edible species of rose petals for their flavoring at the last minutes of the freezing process, it's a subtle taste; but nice. Before you ask, unfortunately they don't have it at Dioli's." Courtney informed, "There's only one other exotic flavor that springs to mind, and that would be saffron, but it costs a little more than other gelati because of the flavoring ingredient."

Miles' eyes lit with recognition, "Now that stuff I know, because my mom was really angry with herself a little while back after she burned Spanish food with about twenty dollars worth of it in the dish."

He hoped things went well enough between them that evening to invite her to his house for dinner some night in the near future, but when Miles saw the expression on Courtney's face, he thought perhaps he had said too much. He cautiously added, "Don't take that the wrong way though, my mom is a great cook," Seeking to save face for her, he expounded, "It's just that sometimes when she tries to cook foreign foods, it doesn't always turn out as she plans is all." Courtney's eyebrow rose as Miles finished. "You don't wanna’ be around on goulash night, I can tell you that much, Mom tried making it again tonight and it didn‘t turn out so well again."

Courtney wouldn’t dare say it to save her life, but she did think, ‘ _That’s what that awful smell was_?’

Above, Monkeyman’s head recoiled and his nose wrinkled in sympathy for Helga’s family. The stench of her repeatedly failed attempts at making foreign foods, especially goulash, could make a buzzard puke and go blind. As a joke, once he had spoken to Bridget about the feasibility of weaponizing Helga’s insidious stew, but the legendary equipment specialist, who had extremely draconian views on the punishment of criminals said it would be inhumane and that you had to draw the line somewhere.

Courtney didn't quite know how to react to his description of Doctor Shortman's cooking for fear of offending Miles, but she couldn't help but laugh when Miles explained. "I know mom tries to fix fancy stuff for us all the time because she cares about us," With an awkward look upwards, Miles added, "but Danica's pizza _is_ in our five." As insurance, Miles respectfully requested, “By the way, _please_ don’t tell mom that I told you that.”

Courtney put her right hand over her warm heart, and raised her left, saying with a solemn tone, "I promise to never ever tell."

Miles, by now excited and wanting gelato so badly that he could already taste it, asked with interest as he closed the gap in between them, "What's your favorite flavor of gelato, Courtney?"

With a more than biased admission, the girl had to admit, "It's a toss up between rose, zabaione, and chocolate."

Miles declared with enthused certainty, "That's what I'm going to get after I try everything else in there, _chocolate_!" Then he asked as Courtney shook her head with her father's crooked smile, "What do they use to get the gelato to taste like that?"

Courtney was surprised at how interested Miles could be in a subject that she thought would have bored him to tears. "The most common ingredient used for that flavor is cocoa powder, but some places cheat and use other types of flavorings like pre-made syrups."

"Oh," Miles answered with a little disappointment, but only because he was expecting a more complicated answer. The boy felt foolish when he said, "Well, that makes sense." Then he added with a wide grin, "It still sounds good though!"

He was cute before, but while walking and taking fleeting glances at him when she thought it was safe, Courtney couldn't help but think of how much more adorable Miles Shortman got by each moment she spent with him. Unfortunately, before she could work up enough courage to do what she wanted to outside Fung Chong's, and take his hand to hold again, Courtney's head whipped to face forward violently as both of them heard a familiar, hateful voice sting the air.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't basketball **fag** , and _Gammeldork_."

Miles instantly frowned and his face flushed red as the ghost of his foolishness came back to haunt him once again threefold.

The concerned boy glanced at Courtney for a fleeting second to re-assure her that he wasn't going to run out on her, secretly wishing that Monkeyman were there. Miles' hero had been around that section of town earlier in the evening when they were dining, but now there was no sign of him much to the boy's chagrin, so it looked like they were left to fend for themselves.

Tim's arms arched into a confident shrug while his compatriots laughed from the darkness. “Since you two losers are so in love with brown food," Miles and Courtney instinctively backed away when Tim moved from the back of the car he was hiding behind and stepped up onto the curb of the shadowed sidewalk. "Why don't you two lovebirds eat a great big bowl of shit and die?"

As Tim walked past a newspaper machine and then leaned against an over painted blue trash can, his confident attitude dared them to pass him as James and Todd emerged from the dark alleyway, completely blocking their forward escape.

Miles glanced at Courtney and looked for a way around the large football players as he sidestepped, switching positions with Courtney while unconsciously placing a guarding arm around her shoulders.

Neither Miles nor Courtney retorted, but just as Miles was going to walk Courtney past Tim, the protective boy's way was blocked when Todd walked around the back of the parked car to the front, successfully cutting their forward escape off.

Wary of turning his back on them, especially with Courtney with him, Miles instinctually placed himself in between the spread out boys and the girl as best he could with his arm held out on the side that Courtney was standing behind.

As the three boys in front of them shared ugly smiles, Miles took a quick glance behind himself to look at Courtney to make sure she was okay before turning his attention back to Tim, James, and Todd.

Not so sure that he could rely solely on his martial arts training if it came down to it, Miles scanned their surroundings for escape routes, while simultaneously sizing up their aggressors to ascertain who was stronger and posed the largest threat if it came down to a fight.

Miles glared at Tim, James and Todd; and they returned while Courtney, for some odd reason, took furtive glances around herself, and the surrounding rooftops.

While the silent discourse of masculine wills progressed, college age kids laughed a few feet down the sidewalk away from them as some poor inebriated soul was thrown out of a noisy theme bar. Courtney looked towards them, hoping that she might be able to procure aid from the gathered crowd, but they all looked too wrapped up in each other to care, or so intoxicated they could barely stand.

So as a loud bell rang, and the older kids down the sidewalk cheered at yet another mildly violent extrication by overgrown bouncers, unknown to the other, Miles and Courtney could have sworn that morning's first second period bell had just rung, bringing the events that brought them to where they were now full circle.

* * *

Eight fifty five a.m., science and English classroom wing, Hillwood High School.

Miles and his sister stood to the side in the teeming hall between classes as their shared best friend indulged in his latest running gag, which was trying yet again to open his locker, which steadfastly refused to allow him entry since the first day of school.

Kyo grunted, "I don't know why this stupid locker won't open three times a day." The boy struggled in futility as his fingertips turned pale from the force he was applying to the sliding opening mechanism while pulling much too hard.

Gertie offered a solution with a questioning shrug, "Mynocks?" As Kyo and Miles both gave the girl a look she asked, "What?" As Kyo began jerking the locker harder, both Miles and Gertie extended their right arms, and slapped their foreheads in unison because Kyo's efforts were once again, drawing both passing glances, and a crowd.

Soon the headstrong blonde was checking her watch and becoming more irritated with Kyo's fruitless efforts by the moment. Soon her patience was at an end and wondered aloud in a smart assed tone as some of the onlookers chuckled, "Would it help if I got out and pushed?"

Kyo answered with an impeccable imitation of Han Solo during the escape from the captured rebel base entombed in planet Hoth as the Empire closed in. "It might!"

If he were in a better mood, Miles might have attempted an extremely inaccurate imitation of one of Chewbacca's plaintive verbalizations after one of Han and Leia's minor piss fights. However, Miles’ countenance then was one of disinterest as he paid little attention to the usually hilarious repartee that substituted flirtation between his sister and his best friend while utilizing their favorite fandom.

Instead, Miles' heavy book bag was slung across his shoulder, mercilessly digging into his flesh, and on the other shoulder, his letter jacket. He would have worn the jacket, but it was too hot, however, he didn't want to lose it again either, so he kept it on his shoulder to assure its security. To complete his look of pensive carelessness about the happenings around him, the boy's arms were crossed, and he rested a foot against an unattended locker looking forward, focusing on no stationary object in particular.

There was an ugly water fountain mounted in the wall with a dented, shiny worn pedal, and white hard water stains encrusting the stainless steel drain in between the men's and ladies' rooms in a wall recess in front of him. A couple of feet down the wall, next to the entrance to the girl's restroom, there was an unsightly, crap brown construction paper covered bulletin board with a dull orange scalloped boarder, stapled with prefabricated yellow, orange, and red leaves that decorated notices for school events he couldn't read the fine print of. Added to those, taped to the walls were even uglier homemade posters that touted student council office candidates a full month too early and why they were a better choice for their selected office as if it really mattered to begin with.

As Miles switched his zoned out gaze from one unsightly curio displayed on the walls to the next, a group of young girls that couldn't have been older than freshmen walked up the hall with books hugging their chests. All of the girls turned to look at the handsome basketball player for a moment, and then turned to whisper and giggle amongst themselves before retreating to the women’s restroom. As Miles tried to ignore the un-solicited attention, Gertie sighed with a roll of her eyes and pointed at Kyo's locker as she sparingly berated him. "'K, please just let me open the confounded thing for you, at the rate you're going, we'll all be late to class!"

Kyo shook his head negatively, and like a hopelessly lost man refusing to ask for directions he argued, "I can get it!" With frustrated hope the boy added, "It's just being stubborn in particular today."

Miles looked to his side, and said dryly, "Your locker is stubborn in particular every day, 'K."

With a snarl Miles couldn't tell was directed to him, Gertie, the locker, or all three; Kyo exhaled in a frustrated tone, "If it weren't an inanimate object, I'd swear this dang blasted lock has it in for me personally, Ducky!"

As the kids hovering around the locker snickered, Gertie's eyes were aflame as she raked her fingers through her hair and then down her face admonishing with a pleading, yet threatening tone through gritting teeth, "Will you please quit callin' me Ducky?" Then Gertie whimsically confessed, "I swear on marshmallows, kittens, and sweet chocolate bars I didn't mean to hit that flock of freakin' ducks with the car!"

Kyo, and everyone else in the hallway looked at Gertie as if she was nuts, except for her brother who astutely noted, "That sounds like the beginning of a children's book, ‘Gert." Laughing loudly at his bad joke, Miles added rhythmically, "You could call it 'The Ass in the Hat', make a ton of money and then you can loan me some cash I'll never pay back."

As everyone in the hallway laughed even louder, Gertie became more irritated. "Good, moron, I'll base it on you!" While the laughter grew exponentially, Gertie continued as she cut her brother a look while turning back to Kyo counting with her fingers, "Anyway, one, that damn duck thing happened a whole year ago,"

Having a photographic memory, excelling in mathematics, and being unable to quell the genetic influence that his scientific mother had donated to his biological makeup, Kyo stated factually, "Actually, it has been one year, two months, and three days since the unfortunate incident with your avian namesakes." The daring boy, obviously enjoying himself a bit too much for his own good, ended with his father’s devilishly alluring grin, "Ducky."

Miles mentioned, "You forgot how many minutes and seconds, Einstein."

Knowing better that to dare a laugh, the crowd behind the three teens backed up a few paces while Gertie drew a long breath in through her nose.

Instead of slugging her best friend, diplomatically, Gertie instead chose explain the rest of her points about the incident rationally, but with an unmistakable tone of annoyance. "My point being, Kyo, is that two, none of the poor damn things died," Gertie then dramatically held up her last remaining digit while rolling upwards onto the balls of her feet to gain much needed height on her friend, "and three, I am sick to my ass of that confounded nickname!"

While the audience roared with laughter at yet another hilarious Gertie Shortman diatribe, the girl growled and asked both rhetorically, and facetiously, "What would people be calling me if I hit a person with the car?" Incredulously, the girl asked, "Manny?"

"No," Miles said with a wicked grin, "They'd be calling you inmate five six two four seven eight, 'Gert."

"Shut up, ass with no hat!" Gertie hatefully spat at her annoying brother as Kyo burst out with a loud laugh, as did the rest of the kids at his best friend's newest and extremely outrageous insult, while Miles in turn delighted in annoying his sibling.

Meanwhile, Kyo tried his lock combination once again, and as the frustrated girl rolled her eyes and growled at him, Kyo shook his head and addressed his type "A" friend. "Why are you so fixated with that?" He chuckled, "I think you need to set up a session with your mother and determine the source of your disturbingly unclean, deep seated issues with your favorite word, Miss Shortman."

“Ass ain’t dirty!” Gertie irreverently spat as the hallway roared with laughter.

Miles forwarded dryly, "Hey, at least she didn't call me that word several times today."

Gertie scoffed and poked her brother on the shoulder rather roughly, which made his heavy book bag fall to the floor. "This rotten tub of meat is my only issue." Miles would have picked the bag up, but from the looks of things, they were going to be there for a while, so he decided to leave it lying on the floor. "With all the people," Miles shrugged then draped his jacket over both his shoulders as a cushion from the hard locker doors while Kyo snickered, Gertie raised her arms in an outrageous gesture, "and all the doo doo I deal with on a daily basis, 'K, how could I not be fixated on the poop and butt related?"

"Doo Doo?" As Kyo laughed at Gertie's cleaned up theatrical response, she changed the conversation back to the original topic as he kept trying to force his obstinate locker open.

Taking a glance at her brother then a full look at both him, and the way that he was wearing his jacket, the playfully sarcastic girl observed, "Wow, Miles, I can't dress myself." Gertie waved her hand with a marvelous flourish in front of him. "That's a bold fashion statement there, Shortman." Before her brother could realize he had been insulted again, with a frustrated blow of breath, Gertie sighed and impatiently tapped her wristwatch. "We now have only three minutes to get to class.” Gertie forced her books into Kyo's arms. "If you'll move outta’ the way, I'll get it open for you like I suggested in the first place." Roughly dragging her fingers through her hair with a huffing sigh she declared, “You’ve been fingering that bitch for three minutes and it still hasn’t opened up.” Kyo and Miles both cast a look at Gertie in shock as she spat, “A super sentai roll call takes less time!”

Raising his index finger, Miles chimed in, “Not to mention adding in all the different colored smoke and background explosions, disco soundtrack, as well as the group power pose after henshin.”

Gertie and Kyo cut Miles an ugly look, then the Johannsen boy frowned as Gertie shoved his heavy books into his arms like an incredibly smelly, grossly overweight baby that needed changing badly. Moving to the side to give her more room, and feeling more than just a little impotent, Kyo tried to make an excuse for his inability to open the lock. "I could have gotten it open eventually."

The girl ceased her preliminary inspection of the door and attached lock, turning towards Kyo to irreverently ask, "When, Johannsen?" The boy's eyebrow rose when addressed by his last name, but his eyes narrowed when Gertie wondered facetiously as Miles shook his head. "Graduation?” Kyo scowled when Gertie turned away, but then sighed and gave in to the girl's stronger will completely.

To tell the truth, Kyo hoped that Gertie would take over the locker wrestling at some point because he was obviously getting nowhere, he simply didn't want to admit it.

Gertie added with determination, fiddling with the built in lock while entering Kyo's super secret combination that almost the entire school knew because he needed help to get it open frequently. "What you do, 'K, is dial your combination," Gertie winked at Kyo, then said with an entertaining lilt, as an effete British television announcer might, "then at the same time, bestow upon the door a little something I like to call a tiny touch of love."

As Kyo's smile got bigger, the headstrong girl proceeded to beat the loud rattling locker door with the heel of her palm as if it owed her money while simultaneously jiggling the handle mechanism. After successfully marrying dexterous mechanical finesse, with indiscriminate physical violence to achieve her end, Gertie opened the door with an artistic flourish, and an ease that Kyo had never been able to replicate since the school year started. "See, you make the locker your bitch, 'K, not the other way around." Seeing Miles' attention grabbed by a special young lady who had turned the corner to walk down the hall, Gertie poked Miles with her elbow. "Ain't that right, Shortman?"

Miles announced dryly, not even looking at her as he stared intently down the hallway, "That's right, Ducky!" Gertie's green eyes narrowed malevolently towards her brother as Kyo bit back a snicker and her brother finished his dig with a self-satisfied nod downwards towards the locker. "You gotta' show that bitch who's boss and keep that pimp hand strong, Fuzzy Slippers."

Gertie fumed for a split second, then said, "I _hate_ you, Miles, I really and truly _do_." While Miles shrugged with a look to the side to show how truly little he cared which further infuriated his hot-tempered sister, in turn, Kyo laughed at the never disappointing show; and placed books from the morning class into his locker, removing different ones for future classes.

Deciding to stroke Gertie's ego a bit to make up for two usages of her hated nickname and her brothers irreverent volley across her bow, Kyo said with a promising tone, "From now on I promise that I'll try to be the bitch maker and not the one who bitches."

Gertie favored the boy she loved with an incredulous look, for both his outlandish response, and his extremely rare usage of foul language despite the fact that he quoted it. Not knowing he had it in him, therefore highly impressed but still keen to hide her affections for him, Gertie responded with a dry tone of annoyance that was inspired by her mother's interactions with his mother. "Yeah, yeah, quit suckin' up."

Then the questioning girl raised an eyebrow, and blew a gentle but hot burst of air out of her nostrils while looking at Miles, who wasn’t paying any attention to hers and Kyo's best pre-noon vaudeville show yet.

Someone could have dropped the heavily peeling, plywood constructed, pigeon feces plastered, cartoon chicken, fish; and pancake decorated sign from the top of his place of work, along with all the feathered vagrants roosting on the edges of it onto his head, and Miles still wouldn't have even noticed.

Gertie could have easily started another ridiculous argument about something stupid with Miles, but kindly chose not to. In lieu of such, she was trying desperately not to notice the fact that yet again, her doe eyed idiot brother was once again watching the girl he was secretly in love with as she walked up the hallway, with a tall, heavy looking stack of books precariously balanced in her arms blocking her view.

While watching her love-struck brother, Gertie wondered if she should say something to Miles in private about Courtney later with an offer to help him try to undo some of the stupendous jackass he had been to the girl. Thinking of the right way to do it, which entailed tactfully breaking the news to Miles that she actually knew how he felt about the fair lady in question despite his ‘protective measures’, they were distracted by a near disastrous event for the tormented girl, who was already unfairly low on the school’s pecking order.

Unable to see it as she walked, the toe of Courtney's sneaker caught a slightly raised cracked tile on the floor, she stumbled a little and deftly righted herself, but by then the damage was done. Kids who were watching laughed as she recovered, some applauded because she didn't drop any of the books in her arms, but most of them teased and offered her false congratulations as they called her the awful name that her stupid brother created as a play on her last name.

Gertie watched Miles' body tense as if he wanted to run to Courtney's aid and help her, but of course, the dumbass didn't. Disappointed in Miles, Gertie wished he had rushed forward and taken some of the books from the poor girl’s hands; it would have been a wonderful gesture that could not be mistaken for anything else but help. Instead of doing such though, Miles simply looked away with what looked like shame written on his face as Courtney walked towards her locker, which was located just a few feet away from theirs on the opposite side of the hall.

Meanwhile, Kyo finished placing his calculus book into his locker and then got out his honors anatomy and American history books. Normally, Gertie would tell Kyo his locker looked like an anal-retentive home decorator had their hands on it because of its neat, spartan appearance, but that morning, she watched with irritation as Tim, Todd, and James whispered something to one another while taking sneering glances at Courtney Gammelthorpe as she neared them.

Gertie didn't know what it was that the boys said to one another but she was sure it wasn't kind, Tim had said plenty of ugly things about and to Courtney in her presence, not to mention filthy things about her when they broke up.

As Gertie began to seethe with anger, Kyo was oblivious to the events unfolding as he dragged her attention away from the three mean boys. "By the way, ‘Gert, thanks, for not saying I'm anal this morning, it means a lot!" After Gertie playfully popped his arm with two fingers lightly, the boy joked, "I just love your physical violence, Shortman!" As Kyo gently flicked her back.

With a smirk, Miles pulled himself away from the breathtakingly beautiful sight of Courtney Gammelthorpe walking up the hall just long enough to make a jab much too good to pass up. "If you two keep that crap up, people will start thinking you're in love with each other or somethin’."

Gertie and Kyo shared a moment of silence while staring into one another's eyes, only to quickly look away. In the distance, Courtney, who had heard Miles' voice, cautiously peeked out from in behind the precariously stacked books in her hands to see the handsome boy looking straight back at her.

When Miles saw that Courtney realized that he was staring at her, the ashamed boy quickly looked away.

Before she had a chance to ignore Miles right back, or realize who was near her, James shook his head and pushed away from the wall he leaned on. "No, no, no, Gammeldork, this is how that was supposed to turn out."

James poked out his foot, ensnared Courtney's feet with it, and as she stumbled forwards unable to right herself, her books seemingly fell in slow motion as her glasses fell from her face and her body lunged forward in free fall.

Instinctually flinging her arms and hands out in front of herself rigidly to catch her fall, a steady surface didn't meet her hands, but rather two slick books lying on the floor in front of her. When the weight of her body fell on her hands, then onto the unsteady books, Courtney slid forward unable to control her inertia, which sent her face down to the floor with the force of her weight behind it.

As a result, the three mean boys and other thoughtless classmates who were no better, laughed at the unfortunate spectacle. Neutral kids in the growing crowd that was circling around Courtney also studied the girl as she slowly stirred with a moan, looking either shocked or dumbfounded.

No matter how any of Courtney's classmates felt about her condition though, none of them stepped forward to help as bright red blood trailed out of her nose to drip down onto the cold floor and she slowly began to rise to her knees.

Disoriented and in pain, Courtney blindly felt the floor for her glasses so that she could see, but all she could hear was derisive laughter, and even worse, the dull crunch of glass as someone stepped on her last pair of glasses, breaking both the lenses, and irreparably bending the frames that held them.

In between the malicious chortles of his friends, the voice Courtney recognized as Todd Jenkins' asked cruelly, "How was your trip, Gammeldork?"

As Courtney shakily pushed herself up off the floor and felt her hot, wet, painful nose to ascertain if it were broken or not, the increasingly loud din around her waned as her thoughts flew to the vacation in Europe she enjoyed with her parents the summer before.

Her favorite city out of the entire trip, Milan was the last beautiful space of time that anything felt right or good in her life because shortly after that, everything began to slowly fall apart.

Before she died, the last thing her mother made her promise was not be upset with her passing.

It was hard, but Courtney had managed to keep her word so far, fulfilling it at the terrible price of feeling nothing, achieved by shutting herself off from everything, and everyone. No matter how hard she tried though, Courtney could never drive the crushing pain of her mother's loss away, but she eventually learned how to live with, and hide it.

As time wore on, Courtney felt more like a ghost peering from outside a window at life, rather than a living entity because everything reminded the guilt ridden girl of her mother, and forced her to feel the pain that she swore to not feel.

At that moment Courtney felt pain sure enough, and even though it was mere physical discomfort, it was the first thing she had felt in a long time against her will, like a long dead spirit once again given flesh and bone to feel.

After pulling up to her sore knees, Courtney dragged three shaking, bright red covered fingers up from her nose to the front of her face to look at in panic while the a few individuals in the crowd standing around her callously laughed along with the three boys taunting her.

Overwhelmed, Courtney had a moment of weakness and wanted someone to come to her rescue and take her away from the people who hurt her on a daily basis, one person springing to mind first.

It didn't matter how bad things were, or how mean the teasing on a particular day had been, her mother always knew how to make it go away, and her feel better.

In that moment, the entire gravity of Courtney's loss registered all at once, like an avalanche of cold smothering heartbreak; and even though her chest was heaving to draw in air, she felt as though she were suffocating.

Her mother and best friend, the one person that had always been there for her no matter what, never could be again.

There wouldn’t be any more warm hugs while she told her how priceless and loved she was, no more kisses, or long meaningful talks in the rose garden about both the serious, and inane.

Rhonda wasn't at home painting, or calling her father at work to start a silly, playful argument over something trivial so that they would have an excuse to make up later.

She wasn‘t folding warm towels with Consuela watching smutty telenovelas, or waiting for her to come home to tell her about her day over a steaming hot cup of comforting tea and her favorite warm cookies either.

No, instead her mother was dead.

It still seemed impossible that a woman who was so full of life and loved it so much could be dead, the ugly reality being that she was.

Against all the hoping, begging, bargaining, and praying to God that made no difference in the end, Rhonda Wellington Lloyd Gammelthorpe was dead and lying in the cold ground next to her poor brother, covered with a pile of dirt and squares of lifeless browning turf, and she'd never see her again.

Now as everyone laughed, there was no one there to protect her, no one there cared enough about her to protect her.

Courtney was sure that her father would if he were there, but he wasn't, he was never around, he was too busy working or taking care of other people instead.

Courtney even hoped against hope and looked for him, but she couldn't see much of anything because of her blurred eyesight.

Even if she could see him, it would not have mattered anyway.

For a long time, reaching back to when she was just a little kid, Courtney thought that she knew the real Miles Shortman.

There was something special about him, and even though he had been mean to her, deep in her heart, she just knew he was not as heartless or thoughtless as he wanted people to think he was.

A hopeless romantic, just like the lovesick fool that her father was for her mother, Courtney thought that if the right person came along and showed him that it was okay, Miles wouldn’t be so afraid to show the kinder side of his personality that she’d seen hints of in private observation.

Of course, Courtney wanted the honor of being the one that he willingly showed it to first.

With time though, Courtney discovered that she was wrong about Miles too, just like so many other childish things she was so sure that she knew and wished were true.

In that moment, Courtney realized that like the prayers for her mother’s recovery, the hope that she held onto for the Shortman boy for years were wasted too, because even he managed to disappoint her with a crushing finality that was wrenching.

From the way he had acted, it was obvious that Miles Shortman didn't want anything to do with her anyway, except to hurt her like the others seemed to enjoy doing, and she was so stupid for not realizing it before then.

With a sudden hopeless realization of the loss of the wonderful love that she had, along with the love that she had wanted for so long and the crushing comprehension that she would never have that either, Courtney was almost no longer able to hold off the pain from it.

At her most vulnerable, the grief stricken girl looked up into a scowling face made more blurry by tears caused by the impact of her nose hitting the floor.

As sticky blood trailed coolly down her upper lip to coagulate on her chin, a single drop falling down onto her shirt, the heartless boy showing off to his friends added, "Hey, Gammeldork, I have an idea." James stepped forward with a confident swagger and gripped his crotch a few inches away from Courtney's face. "Since you’re on your knees, why don't you do something useful?" James framed his chin with his fingers as if he were deep in thought, then knelt down with his face in hers, vilely suggesting, “You know, like suck my dick?”

Along with all the other indignities and sorrows heaped upon her in the past year, and the last disgusting insult being too much to bear, the vulnerable girl's will was finally shattered.

By quick degrees, Courtney lost control, forgetting the cold lines of the stoic part in a heartbreaking play that she had portrayed so well until that moment.

In the sight of the last people that she wished it to take place of, her enemies, Courtney lowered her head, and began jerking with heavy, wrenching sobs, wishing with all her heart that like her brother and mother, she were dead too.

Not believing anyone could be so low, and have such a hurtful lack of respect for someone in general, much less whom had endured so much in the past year, Gertie, the only outward voice of opposition to the way Courtney was being treated looked at the sobbing girl. Gertie glared at James and stated with disbelieving shock, “H-how could you say such a thing?”

Seeing the pitiful condition that the girl was in, Gertie's first impulse was to help her up and take her away from the abuse of the trash in the hallway, but before she could, she was astounded as Miles' Figs letter jacket caught air and spread out like a cape across his back before falling down to the cracked floor.

Everyone’s attention caught by the action, they all watched with wordless shock when Miles ran towards James Barber, his fists balled, and a fury racked, guttural roar bellowed from the pit of his chest in the form of an uncharacteristically foul mouthed malediction. " **DAMN YOU, YOU SORRY SON OF A BITCH**!"

James' head whipped to the side, the smug smile on his ugly face dropping away, replaced with one of surprise to match those of the observers in the background as the gap between he and Miles quickly closed. The hateful boy didn't have much of a chance to see much else as his eyes crossed except a white balled fist with visibly red knuckles traveling with great speed and force towards his nose.

Miles' well-placed punch landed squarely on the James’ nose, and Gertie could almost hear the recoil of his neck as the disgusting boy lost his balance, tottered backwards, and then landed rather hard on the cracked, green and orange painted concrete floor beneath him.

Even Tim and Todd, who were a contributing party to Courtney's torment, were glued to their spots, incapable of reacting to the unexpected turn of events.

Gertie and Kyo shared a quick glance and then she looked over the silent countenance of everyone in the hallway as her brother knelt down next to Courtney. With beaming pride in her brother, Gertie unconsciously placed her hand on Kyo’s shoulder as Miles extended his open hand down towards Courtney as the bloodied girl looked up at him in confusion.

In the silence of the hallway, Courtney soon heard another voice that had also been a party to bullying her in the past. She had lost total faith and completely given up on the owner of it, but to her surprise, she heard it declare in a confident, deeply re-assuring timbre, "C'mon, Courtney, it’s okay, they can't hurt you anymore."

As Miles Shortman knelt closer to her with what seemed to be a kind, hopeful smile, Courtney looked up in disbelief. Before she could think if this was a joke, or if she wanted to accept his aid or not, James had already gotten back up, and with the help of his friends, knocked Miles down to the floor. Along with Tim and Todd, James began to beat Miles with all the strength they had using their fists and feet, getting in cowardly blows anywhere, and any way that they could.

While they did, Miles laid still on the cold red floor not even offering to defend himself. Even though Courtney wasn't wearing her glasses, she saw that Miles' eyes were open, focusing on her for the most fleeting of moments before the beating the boys gave him became more severe.

Then Courtney saw a flash of something white wrap around Miles' neck and heard him gag, but before she knew what was happening, the frightened girl was forced to cover her head with her hands to protect it from something that jumped over her from across the hall.

Despite the lack of the foul language that was her legendary trademark, Courtney easily recognized the voice bellowing above her as heavy blows landed on bodies, knowing that it belonged to her fellow French club member.

* * *

Like a bat flying from the depths of burning hell, Gertrude Shortman had seemingly flown across the cleared hallway.

When she reached them, Gertie began beating the boys who were hurting her brother with extremely mild language for the given situation and what seemed like little regard for either Tim, James, and Todd's well being, or any physical restraint on her part.

Covering her head to protect it from Gertrude's kicking feet, punching fists, and the falling bodies of her tormentors, Courtney soon felt a tugging sensation under her arms to find she was being gently, but quickly pulled across the slick concrete floor to safety by Kyo Johannsen.

Almost as soon as the fight started, teachers, the school nurse, and the principal came to stop the row and restrain all the players, finding they were ineffectual in making any headway.

Finally, it fell to Courtney’s chess, debate, and I.Q. team acquaintance Kyo Johannsen to pull Gertrude Shortman forcefully away from the three boys with one arm around her stomach and the other around and over her shoulder, gently pressing his lips to her ear pleading with her in a loving tone to stop.

* * *

If he were by himself, Miles would have thought it was downright laughable the elementary school playground immaturity of the three boys as Tim, Todd, and James blocked their passage down the sidewalk while taunting them.

Now, Miles was only irritated, but he knew that soon he would probably want to take their lives.

Miles didn't care what any of them thought about or said to him because he could take whatever they had to offer, but the protective boy knew from experience that none of his old "buddies" would pass up a chance to mistreat Courtney. Sizing up their situation, Miles was trying to think of a good way to spare the innocent girl their needless cruelties without his parents having to post bail for him that evening.

Despite the fact that he really would like to mop the sidewalk with their bloody scalps for everything that happened that day, Miles tried to address the boys in a tone that was not threatening or angry sounding. After one of Tim's self-confident smirks that he thoroughly despised though, Miles missed the mark completely by asking angrily, "What do you want?"

James lifted his head, "To kick your ass again, Shitman."

Todd Jenkins, the least intelligent parrot of the group who had greatly annoyed Miles, even when he was stupidly trying to schmooze himself a place in their little group, added with a confident point, "Yeah, to kick your ass!" Miles was rather surprised that Todd didn't flap his oversized arms and squawk, ' _Rawwrkk_ ' for good measure.

While simultaneously studying their aggressors and watching for sudden movement, Miles looked at Courtney to see what emotional state she was in. The protective boy was expecting apprehension and fear, but he was relieved that Courtney looked more annoyed with the boys than anything else.

Even though he didn't feel that he owed all their tormentors the same consideration, Miles swallowed his pride and tried to make the events of the morning right towards one of the aggressors.

No matter how much the boy hated to admit it, Miles knew that he was wrong for his part in the morning's festivities because he had started the fight with James with no warning. Added to that, he was also ashamed because he had shown disrespect for a woman, much worse a kind woman who treated him well on their rare meetings. "Look, James," The contrite boy began, "I'm sorry I called you that name this morning. It was rude, I wouldn't like anyone saying something like that about my mom, your mother is always nice to me when we've spoken, and she deserves respect." Miles glanced at Courtney, and her eyes were wide for an undetermined reason as he continued, "I apologize for that, James, I really am sorry." Seemingly disinterested about the insult about his mother, James cracked his knuckles as an effort to intimidate Miles as he continued. "I also shouldn't have hit you this morning either."

James viciously answered, "You got that goddamn right, Shitman."

Miles finished with as much grace as he could, "No matter the reason why I did it, it was wrong and I hope that you can accept my apology." Miles stepped forward, and extended his open palm towards James for him to shake, but instead of James returning the noble gesture, all three boys simply laughed at him.

Left hanging, but not regretting his attempt at being decent, Miles took his hand back while simultaneously glancing at Courtney who in turn looked as if she couldn't believe what had just transpired. Wisely, Miles suggested to the trio before them an amicable solution to the stand off. "There's no reason for us to carry on what happened this morning this evening, so let’s just consider it over."

James scowled, "Over my ass!"

Miles nodded to Tim and Todd while still looking at James, "Look, you and your friends got your revenge and then some." Using diplomacy, and a tone unmistakably his father's style, Miles calmly stated, "All Courtney and I want is to be left alone, so lets just go our separate ways in peace, and we'll never have to be bothered with each other again. What do you say?"

Miles hoped that the bullies would let them go with no trouble, but by their facial expressions, physical language, and the pointed silence that his reasonable overture was greeted with; he found that he might as well be speaking to the hard brick wall behind James.

The wall was without a doubt more intelligent than their adversaries were.

Even so, there was no reason whatsoever for the sweet girl beside him to suffer any more indignity that day, so Miles looked at Courtney and gently took her hand. "C'mon, Courtney, we don't have to put up with this crap, let's just get outta’ of here."

Just as Miles was about to lead her away from the menacing boys, Tim pointed at Todd, and he ran to jump beside he and Courtney near the street, effectively pinning the boy and girl in between all of them. "You bored with us already, Milesey?" James and Todd laughed as Tim stepped closer to Miles in a threatening manner. "I'm so hurt, and here I thought you wanted to be our best bud."

Tim scoffed as Todd cracked his knuckles to the side of them, with Courtney warily watching so Miles wouldn't be jumped from behind as he had been by the cowards that morning.  
"That's right; Assman, you and your little girlfriend aren't going anywhere." James added as he shook his head with a smile, looking behind himself to make sure that no one was witness to their actions. "We have unfinished business that is getting settled tonight.” James pointed towards his face with his index finger, "You almost broke my fuckin' nose this morning, and then that crazy bitch sister of yours got in on it, so now you're gonna' pay!"

Despite the fact he wanted to punch James in the nose again, Miles kept calm but bravely ordered, "Don't drag Gertie into this," He added sternly, nodding behind himself towards the girl he was protecting. "Or Courtney either, your quarrel is with me!" Miles held his hand to the side in a beseeching motion, hoping that they would take him up on his offer. "At least please let her leave and then you can beat me again.” Measuring his culpability for years of his behavior that culminated in the events of that day carried over to that evening, Miles reasoned, “I deserve it for being so damn stupid." The boy gently took her hand and motioned with his head while still keeping eyes on their attackers. "Go on to the car, 'Court, it'll be okay." He managed a smile, "Trust me."

Courtney didn't trust Miles at all, and instead of deserting him as he bravely requested, she blurted out while tugging on her champion's arm with a stance that looked protective. "I'm not about to leave you here alone with these, these," Courtney struggled for a nasty enough word to describe her disdain for them, but could only spit out, "Awful people!" Then she looked at Tim, Todd, and James with contempt, her eyes cutting them to the bone as they laughed at her lackluster insult of their personalities. "Honestly, don't you all have anything else better to do tonight than this?"

While James and Todd mocked Courtney's words in the highest pitched tones that they could, Tim stepped forward, but when he did, Miles did too, putting even more space between Courtney and the two bullies in front of him. Somewhat surprised by the response their intimidation was garnering, Tim teased, "Wow, Shitman, you must feel like a real pimp having your bitches doing all your fighting for you today."

Todd laughed and Miles almost felt pity for the dumb boy when the most cutting thing he could come up with to match was, "Yeah, he's a pimp alright."

Adhering to their plans to goad Miles into another fight, James goaded, "I guess you think you're man enough to take us on again?"

"As best I can remember, I only took you on, James." Miles countered with shame, because he’d done the exact thing, "The three of you should definitely know all about what makes a man a man though, hurting a girl who can't defend herself and ganging up on somebody three on one."

Watching intently from above, Monkeyman figured Helga’s boy meant well, bless his heart, but Miles' assumptions about Courtney’s defenselessness was a grave error.

A horrifying mistake akin to jumping into the tiger enclosure in Hillwood City Zoological Park dressed in a meat suit slathered with sausage gravy and screaming eat me.

Todd smirked, and moved his cupped hand up to his ear, "You guys hear something?"

Tim scoffed, "Yeah, it sounds a lot like whining to me."

Miles' lips turned upwards to the side with a small smirk, and despite the sharp pain that radiated from the crack in his lip when it split open again and he laughed. Soon a small head of blood formed at the bottom of the crack, and as Miles licked the salty, iron-tasting droplet away, he answered, "So funny you mention the sound of whining, you sure did a lot of it after you had that painfully short chat with Gertie this morning." Miles probably should have stopped there, instead he foolishly finished his jab in tribute to his sister‘s marked supremacy in the events of the morning. "So, please tell me, what was it like for all of you to get your ass handed to you by the girl you used to date, Tim?"

Despite the fact that she was somewhat worried, Courtney shook her head with a chuckle at the sheer brass balled gouging Miles gave their tormentors despite the fact that they were outnumbered. The chuckle was short lived when James spat, "What are you laughing at, Gammeldork?"

Stepping forward, Miles snarled as he stood no more than a foot away from James' face, angrily pointing he threatened, "Don't call her that name again!"

"What are you going to do about it, faggot?" James pushed Miles’ shoulder hard and the Shortman boy stumbled backwards a couple of steps. "Get your head in the way of our fists again?"

Tim looked at Miles in contempt as he held out his muscular arms to accentuate his point. "We handed your ass to you this morning, what makes you think we can’t do it again?" The hateful boy confidently jeered with a smirk, "You and your sister think you’re so great, run the whole fuckin’ school, and can do whatever you want, but where are your loser friends now? They‘re not here ‘cause you ain’t shit, that’s why. Nobody's here to bail you out this time, and you‘re gonna‘ get the rest of what you had coming this morning."

* * *

Katrinka checked the time and sighed, she knew Park really didn't care when they came in, and it was getting late, that wasn’t the issue that troubled her.

Even though she was a veterinarian and loved animals, she was at a loss as to how in the world the kids had talked her into getting yet another pet. Realizing that they were dangerously close to being in an episode of Animal Hoarders on the Knowledge Channel, Katrinka remarked to her persuasive children, "I hope your father isn't going to be upset with us when we tell him we have a new puppy."

The Dodson family was the proud owners of a slew of slobbering, shedding, molting, and sometimes loud pets that ranged from the ordinary to exotic.

There was a neglected African gray parrot named Spanky that she rescued from a sleazy biker bar in the bowels of downtown Hillwood City. Even though the Shortman girl was particularly grandiloquent at times, Katrinka was sure their bird could teach Arnold and Helga's daughter dirty words and terms that even she hadn't ever heard or used before.

In addition to the foul beaked parrot, the family also took turns caring for two white mice named Turkey and Gravy, an Irish setter named Justice, and a white cockatiel named Layla. To round out the menagerie, there were also five grown cats that were abandoned in a box as kittens at the front door of Katrinka's office a couple of years ago. When she couldn’t find appropriate homes for them all, the family adopted them too. As a reward for their kindness, the cats constantly shed, and ruined almost all of their furniture by scratching it.

A sick, stereotypical joke, for some reason Park found endless humor in the fact that he had named the cats after various side dishes found on the menu of Fung Chong’s in the order of Egg Roll, Pot Sticker, Lo Mein, Won Ton, and Pork Fried Rice. Even worse, when he was angry with one, or all of the cats for one reason or another, Park regularly threatened to toss them in a wok with some vegetables and then eat them.

Park had his moments and could be aggravating, he was a man after all, but Katrinka loved him so much she didn't know what to do. Even though they sometimes argued over the animals’ arrangements, she was grateful that for the most part, her husband was patient, realizing what he was getting into when he married her.

Sometimes he wasn’t exactly pleased with the inadvertent zoo she had gradually created, but the thankful woman was glad that Park was indulgent of her need to rescue and nurture animals that might otherwise live a short life of undeserved neglect, abuse, and misery. Sometimes her husband acted as if he didn’t like animals, but many were the times he had sat up with her in the wee hours of the morning helping her bottle nurse motherless kittens, puppies, comforted her when she had to put animals down, and understood the demanding, time-consuming nature of her calling.

Even though he acted differently, Park was as attached to the household pets as she was, and loved them all like four legged children, however, he did make it abundantly clear that he didn't want any more animals brought into their home if she could help it, at least for the time being. Not too long ago he observed that their house was starting to look like the city pound, and she was inclined to agree.

Nonetheless, she knew that yet another pet in the house would be a hard sell, but when they saw the fat black and white Boston terrier puppy in the wire enclosure at the weekly Hillwood City Animal Altruism Association adoption fair, she and the kids couldn't abandon it because they fell in love.

With a roll of her eyes, Katrinka said cautiously, "When we get to 'Chong's, don't bring the puppy out of the car until I break the happy news to your father, okay?"

"Gotcha'!" Both kids answered in the affirmative as they took turns petting the small, snorting dog as it stretched out on its back between the kids.

P.J. was lovingly scratching the tiny black and white puppy under its chin while his sister Jeneane rubbed her pink tummy wondering, "Why anyone would get rid of a purebred dog like this? She‘s just as sweet as she can be." Then Jeneane said with conviction, "Let’s re-name her Charity because she walked over to us in the pen, and put her little squeaky ball in mom's hand."

P.J.'s head whipped towards his sister. "I thought we were going to keep her agency name, Nibbles!" The small dog chomped down rather hard on the boy's fingers with its tiny, sharp white milk teeth, making him yank them away quickly, and then rub them with his other hand. The mischievous puppy then dug its claws into the seat beside P.J., and began stubbornly pulling the fringes of denim that were frayed off the hole in the knee of his nicest pair of jeans while shaking its head. With irritation, he dryly noted as he gently pried open the dog's mouth to release his pants leg, "I'm not sure, but I think I have a good idea why this dog was at the adoption fair and why she‘s named Nibbles too." When the dog refreshed its grip on his clothing and pulled backwards much harder, P.J. scolded, "Dang it, dog, quit it! These are my good pants!"

Motherly nature demanded that Katrinka say, "You actually have a pair of jeans that you consider good?"

Jeneane rolled her eyes and changed the subject back to the formal naming of the puppy. "Well I like the name Charity, because it's cute and sweet!"

"Well I think we should keep her original name." P.J. voted as he pried the dog's deceptively strong jaws off his clothes once again. "At least Nibbles is appropriate, she sure as hell can't resist the urge to chew on me, and everything else in here!"

P.J. palmed the destructive puppy off on his sister for the moment and after Jeneane got the puppy's gnawing wet maw off the latest issue of her favorite entertainment magazine; it turned its focus on the sleeve of her favorite black sweater. Unfortunately, in the process of chewing on her sleeve, the puppy pulled the covering away from her arm and upwards, but before she could stop it, the damage was done.

When Jeneane noticed P.J. looking down at her wrist, the girl hurriedly pulled the long sleeve of her sweater back down looking away out the window in embarrassment, so she didn't see the apologetic look he gave her, nor the tender smile.

God knew that he had not meant to stare for so long, and even though he had seen the deep scars on both her wrists before, the reasons why they were there still disturbed him. No matter how uncomfortable it was Jeneane always wore long sleeved shirts or heavy sweaters year round to conceal the marks out of both embarrassment, and the fear of their discovery, which would merit unwanted questions, or worse, the horrible explanation of their existence. Forced to think about all of it again, the issue angered P.J., disgusted him, and broke his heart all at the same time.

Being the same age, P.J. and she argued as any other pair of siblings normally would, but he would always be glad that Jeneane was fostered by his family, then a short time later, adopted. With their love and Doctor Shortman's therapy, 'Jen's life now was so much better than the nightmarish existence that for the most part, she left behind her.

Oblivious to the events taking place in the back seats, Katrinka pulled Park Junior's attention away from the reason behind Jen's sudden silence with a curt, "P.J., honestly! Language!"

"Hell's in the bible, Mom," The boy shrugged, "It's a place, and not really a bad word."

Katrinka raised her eyebrow in the rear view mirror and the boy quieted his argument when she said, "It's bad enough!" Shaking her finger, Katrinka informed, "We hear quite enough of those in the kitchen of Fung Chong's in two different languages and one dialect!" The irked mother raised an eyebrow in the rear view mirror to her son, "I don't want you to say them here."

To help spare her brother more lecture, Jeneane artfully changed the subject back to the dog. "I think that once we get her trained, Charity will make a great companion for Justice." The girl shrugged as she petted the dog's head while it playfully nipped her. "The only thing we have to do now is find another dog, name it 'For All' and we'll be set!"

"Charity, and Justice, For All?" P.J. rolled his eyes, "There's truly something wrong with you, 'Jen!"

"You know," Jeneane said with a knowing tone, "If you don't like that name," She muttered craftily through her teeth so that only her brother could hear it, "Maybe we could call the puppy Kim." As P.J.'s face turned bright red, Jeneane winked, thinking her brother's crush on Milk Girl was extremely cute.

Katrinka sighed. "Before we start thinking about dragging another animal into the house, let's get this new dog past your father before we start fighting about its name, okay?" With a shaking head, the wiser woman added, "It's only fair that your daddy gets to have a say in the puppy's name too," With a hopeful feeling, Katrinka ended, "Besides, if he helps name the dog, the better the chance we'll get her into the house without too much fuss."

P.J. noted as he wiped slobber off his bare knee with the heel of his hand, “You know if you let dad name her, he’ll pick something weird off the menu at the restaurant, like moo shu or something.”

With another silent but deadly emission from the puppy, Katrinka waved her hand in front of her nose. Despite the fact it was cold outside, she quickly rolled down all the windows with a forceful declaration, “As gassy as that dog’s been all evening, if I know your daddy, he’ll probably name her Egg Drop or something worse.”

P.J.’s face curled as he fanned his hand in front of his face too, but Jeneane chortled and swiped slobber off her magazine as best she could, opening it to the question and answer section. In turn, P.J. gathered the small bundle of squirming puppy into his lap to restrain it from chewing the unused seatbelt between him and his sister.

Dragged away from the passing scenery from the open window, his sister flipped to a page in her magazine, and pushed it unceremoniously into her brother's face, exclaiming with a breathy sigh, "Just look at him, Park! Jameson Hottentott is so, so,"

Shivering with cold, P.J. answered with a shit eating grin and sarcasm, "Hot?"

Jeneane glared at her brother as Katrinka looked into the rear view mirror at her Hollywood obsessed daughter. With the numerous crushes she nursed on many of the famous young male stars, it was difficult to keep up with them all. "Which one is that again?"

P.J. groaned as Jeneane tightly gripped her already dog-eared magazine, and eyed her brother daring him to say one more derogatory thing about the star. Unable to resist, P.J. muttered to his mother, "Now you've done it."

Jeneane rolled her magazine, popped P.J. lightly with it, and as the puppy barked, he rubbed his stinging arm, and the enthralled girl began to educate her mother. "Jameson Hottentott is only the most gorgeous man to ever walk the face of the earth!" The girl opened the magazine again and pointed to a picture of the star's girlfriend, "He's dating Chrysanthemum Sterling, but everyone who follows their relationship calls them Jamesonthemum."

As Park junior rolled his eyes, his mother questioned, "What movie was he in again?" Curiously, Katrinka wondered, "The vampire one?"

Jeneane glared at P.J. as he began to laugh like a maniac, "Yeah, that's 'ol hot stuff alright, he was also in the superhero parody movie too."

The girl sighed, "Those were such good films." With a sigh, she expounded dreamily, “Midnight is the best movie adaptation of a book series I’ve ever seen.”

P.J. scowled at his sister's well renowned lack of taste in books and movies. “Pardon the pun, but Midnight sucks!” Before his mother could warn him about his language, he reasoned, “Vampires don’t belong in sunlight and they don’t shine in it either.” He added his last unflinching argument. “How does a guy who’s technically dead get a girl pregnant anyway?”

“He found a way.” Katrinka slightly turned to look at her daughter strangely, and then Jeneane looked at her brother wickedly. “You know, for somebody who supposedly hates Midnight so much, you sure seem to know quite a bit about it.”

P.J. flung up his arms in frustration. “You had it on a loop during the entire duration of your last sleepover, you couldn’t help but pick that crap up whether you wanted to or not!” Jen smirked knowing better though, because P.J. spent at least half an hour hiding on the top of the basement steps watching one of her guests with particular interest. Letting him have the argument for the moment, she was silent when P.J. added with a scowl, "I hope you never try to get a job at that magazine plastered in your face, your reviews’ll ruin ‘em!"

Jeneane vehemently announced, "The Fartastic Gasman is a special effects extravaganza, not to mention a comedy classic!"

"No, 'Jen," P.J. Countered, "That visual sewage you ought to be ashamed to call movie should have been called The Incredible Vortex, because it sucked!"

Before Katrinka could get onto her son for saying another questionable word that wasn't quite dirty, Jeneane spat viciously, "You stole that from Gertie Shortman! If you're going to make fun of my favorite actor and movies, at least come up with your own insults!"

As the argument grew exponentially, Katrinka couldn't begin to referee because she was laughing much too hard as the new puppy barked at the siblings, letting out a cute, tiny little howl as it bounded from one kid’s lap to the other.

* * *

Miles sighed and tried to be nice one last time, "I'm asking you one more time, please just let us by." When the boys scowled and stayed firmly planted in their spots, Miles asked, "So this is how you want it to be?"

Todd asked stupidly, "Why are you so worried about Gammeldork anyway?" Before Miles could warn him not to say the name, he added, "You said it yourself that you hate her."

Courtney looked to her side at Miles in shock as he blurted out, "I never hated her!" The boy stepped forward, and added with truthful conviction, "I love Courtney and she’s never deserved any of our abuse. Now, are you going to let us go in peace or are we going to have it out? It's completely up to you, but I can tell you one thing right now." Miles took a step closer to the three, tracked his index finger across them, and promised with confident resolve, "None of you are ever going to bully her again; it ends tonight!"

James burst out in genuine laughter, chortling as he cruelly mocked, "'I love her?'" Then he scoffed, "That's the oldest goddamn line in the book!" Chuckling, the mean boy just had to ask, "Has she fallen for it yet?"

Miles glared at James as Todd remarked, "If you're so badass, why didn't you teach us all a lesson this morning?"

Courtney couldn't help but wonder that herself as Tim pointed at Courtney with his thumb. "The big hero is just showing off for his little girlfriend again." The nasty boy nudged his friends with his elbow, and Miles didn't know what he was going to say, but he knew that whatever it was, he wished that he could guard Courtney's ears from it. "At least we know why Miles is so concerned with Gammeldork's welfare all of a sudden."

Miles was beginning to reach the level of anger he achieved earlier that morning, his eyes narrowed, his face was redder, and he balled his fists. Ready to punch any one of them at any given moment, the determined boy warned seriously, "Do not say one more word about Courtney, I mean it."

James smirked and answered his friend’s classless question. “My guess is that Gammeldork’s so goddamn ugly she’s probably still a virgin.” While the mean boys laughed heartily, Miles glanced at Courtney with a blush, and despite the fact that it was dark, her face was red too. "Milesy probably thinks that if he takes up for the little weirdo, she'll give it up."

Hanging on every disgusting word throughout the entire exchange, and with the last filthy, disrespectful statement still ringing in his ears, Monkeyman's teeth ground together, his fists balled, and he wanted to beat the three boys so badly that he could taste it.

Without a word, or any further thought of consequences, Miles lunged toward James with a raised fist and every intention of doing as much damage as he could, but Courtney immediately jumped in front of him, caught his forearm and then bravely placed her body between Miles and their aggressors.

It took all of her strength, but somehow Courtney found reserve and managed to push Miles backwards struggling against her efforts while Tim, James and Todd jeered.

* * *

Groaning, P.J. put his hand in his face, wishing that he had never mentioned the first word about Jeneane's interest in Jameson Hottentott. For the past few minutes he and his mother had been treated to a complete history of every shitty inch of film the untalented actor had ever had shown his face in, and Jeneane was still talking about him.

When his sister finally became quiet, the bored boy felt relieved that the torment was over, but his head snapped upwards when she looked out the window with a startling revelation. "Wasn’t that Miles and Courtney?" Then with worry she added, "What are they doing with them?"

P.J.'s head darted up, and when he saw Courtney struggling against Miles, and James, Tim, and Todd nearing her from behind her, he yelled, "Mom, stop the car!"

Katrinka jumped, "What?"

P.J. yelled, "MOM, stop NOW!" Katrinka stabbed the brakes with a glance at what was going on down the sidewalk. Before she could back up, tell her son and daughter to stay put, or even think to call for help, P.J. unfastened his belt, opened the door, and then shut in one fluid motion to take off in a run towards his friends with Jeneane following suit.

The puppy growled and then began aggressively barking as Katrinka yelled at her children. "Get back here right now!" It was too late though, because the car doors closed, and the kids were already halfway towards the danger down the sidewalk. All the frightened mother could do was turn off the ignition, jump out of the car herself; and try to catch up to her overzealous children before they got hurt.

* * *

As P.J. and Jeneane neared their friends, Miles angrily screamed as Courtney held him back. "Let me go now!" Though not directed towards her, the complete rage on Miles' contorted face frightened Courtney, but tenaciously, she stood her ground and continued to push him away from the other boys as they goaded and dared him to come after them.

Unable to look when she heard feet hitting pavement, Courtney was afraid that the three boys were running to attack after Miles shouted his last threat at them, but was grateful to glance behind the enraged boy, and see that the footfalls belonged to P.J. and Jeneane who were running towards them.

Only then did Courtney realize she had turned her back on Todd, Tim, and James for much too long, but was relieved to see that they had backed off a few feet, at least for the moment.

Now that she had help, Courtney was hoping to defuse the situation before it got any worse. Miles was still shaking and his blue eyes were black looking as he studied the boys over her shoulder, looking perfectly capable, and willing, to fulfill the threat to beat them within an inch of their lives. Foolishly, Todd, James and Tim taunted Miles from their safe positions, but he screamed back at them angrily as he continued to push against Courtney who was trying her best to restrain him.

Courtney was terrified that Miles might take off after them, which was obviously what they wanted, but she took a chance, and cautiously released one of his forearms to place her soft hand on the angry boy's swollen cheek. With a calm voice, she asked, "Miles please stop." Seeing that didn't grab Miles' attention away from the taunting boys in the distance, Courtney sternly commanded, " **LOOK AT ME**!" The panting boy took his eyes off their tormentors instantly, focusing on her instead.

As Miles stared at her, never before had Courtney seen anyone so angry in her entire life, but she smiled as she placed her other hand on his opposite cheek to frame his hot, red face. As Tim, Todd, and James yelled foul abuse and childish taunts from a safe distance, Courtney said rationally while shaking her head, "We've had such a good time together tonight, please don't let them ruin it."

Miles exhaled a sharp breath, took one of her hands in his, and pointed at the trio down the sidewalk while shaking with fury, "What those bastards said about you,"

Courtney finished Miles sentence, her voice painted with frustration, "Were only words, Miles, it doesn't matter."

Panting, Miles lowered his arm, "But,"

“But nothing.” Courtney shook her head and continued to try to get his mind off them. "Please don’t do this, Miles; it’s what they _want_ you to do." With conviction, the girl held out a hand to the side that pointed at the three in the distance and said with a quality that was not so much disgusted as it was full of pity. "Look at them, take a real _good_ look." Courtney had a grimace on her face as she spoke of the hateful boys. "All of them are pathetic cowards and they aren’t worth getting in trouble over." Courtney shook her head with concern. "They're trying to control you through your anger and make you act like someone you aren't.” She pleaded emphatically, "Please don't give them the satisfaction of having that power over you, because you are so much better than this; and them, Miles Shortman!"

Miles stared into her soulful grey green eyes and realized that they looked much wetter than they did before she began speaking to him. Realizing how upset Courtney was and how correct she was, Miles suddenly felt so ashamed at how foolishly he acted as he placed his own hand on her cheek. “I’m sorry I upset you.” To assuage the worry that painted the girl's face as she placed her own hand on top of his, ended, "I won‘t go after them."

To Miles' relief Courtney smiled. "Let’s just go, okay?” With heartfelt affection, she took his hand and said with relief, “They can't hurt us anymore."

P.J. and Jeneane, who had not only been standing near, but also heard the entire exchange did not quite know how to react. Feeling as if they both should be elsewhere at the moment, but having no line of retreat, they did the best they could with the situation. Jeneane looked upwards to give the illusion of privacy while P.J. rubbed the back of his neck while looking to the side. After what he felt was an appropriate length of time, P.J. wondered, "Are you two alright?"

Miles and Courtney were both blushing when Jeneane said through her clenched teeth, "Like you need to ask."

Katrinka ran up to her kids and placed her hands on their shoulders while looking down the sidewalk panting, "Are you all okay?"

Courtney, who was cold and quite shaken by the experience because of Miles' distress, said with heartfelt gratitude, "Yes, we're fine, thank you, all of you so much for stopping and helping us!"

Miles, who was still calming down, exhaled, "Yeah, thanks."

Katrinka studied the courageous boys who were walking away, taking glances over their shoulders as they retreated and then turned her ire towards her children. "Don't you two ever do anything so foolish as to run off like that again!" Holding her hand over her heart, more in fear for her children's welfare than exhaustion, she pointed her finger at two remaining boys as they stepped down off the curb and disappeared into a car. "They could have tried to hurt you or something!" Looking at Courtney and Miles, the concerned mother asked, "What happened to you two?" After a short explanation, Katrinka's eyes narrowed, but she offered with concern, "They were harassing you, do you want to call the police and make a report? Actually, you should, that type of behavior should be on record."

Courtney shook her head, "It wouldn't do any good, James' father is chief of police and tonight would get swept under the rug like just like everything else he does." With a smile at Miles, Courtney added while clutching Miles’ hand, hoisting it up slightly, "Besides, I was extremely well protected."

With a blush, the bashful boy shook his head, but before he could admit that Courtney was the hero of the evening, a red sports car squealed up the street, and when it stopped alongside them, James stuck his head out the window with a smirk, “See you at school, Losers.”

Jeneane stepped forward and vehemently yelled at Tim, “Your mama should’a named you Summer’s Eve, ’cause you’re a douche!”

P.J., Miles, and Courtney all stared at Jeneane with wide eyes as her mother scolded, “JENEANE DODSON!” Katrinka’s voice shrilled, but before she could admonish her child’s language, all three boys bade their classmates one fingered farewells and the tires of the car belched smoke as the car peeled away from them.

"I don't know what in the world would make boys behave like that."

"They're assholes?" Park Junior theorized with a shrug as Katrinka smacked his arm, but just as she was about to verbally admonish her son about cursing, again, she looked upwards just in time see a black streak catapult across the rooftop next to them, only to disappear over the adjacent one.

If Katrinka were a betting woman, she would wager Monkeyman was headed towards the stoplight at the intersection of Prince Street and Hillcrest, coincidentally where a red traffic light was holding the red sports car.

Courtney, who also saw the visitor on the rooftop, shook her head, and Katrinka focused on her, both of them sharing a look.

Sighing with relief, the caring mother offered, "Well, come on, 'Court, you and Miles get in the car and you can either call your parents from Fung Chong's to pick you up, or we'll give you a ride home." With a cheery smile, Katrinka added, "Your choice."

Courtney chimed in, "Actually, Miles and I finished eating there a few minutes ago and we were walking back to my car when the Hillwood brain trust stopped us."

As everyone laughed, the more concerned mother asked, "Well, where are you parked?"

"Right in front of Mighty Pete." Miles answered. “It’s not that far away, and we can walk back just as easily as we came.”

Katrinka shook her head, along with her finger. "I am not about to let you two gallivant off by yourselves as late as it is!" Katrinka placed her hands on her hips. "Especially after everything that has just happened! Your car will be fine where it is overnight, Courtney, come back to Fung Chong's with us and the both of you can call your parents to come get you."

Miles and Courtney shared a sideways glance, neither kid liking the idea of calling parents for multiple reasons. She didn’t want her baby-sitting out all night in that neighborhood anyway, so cleverly, Courtney struck upon another more advantageous design. "If you'll give us a ride to my car, I'm sure we'll be okay once we get there."

Miles added, glancing at Courtney with a smile. "Yeah, 'Court's right, those morons are long gone by now, they won't come back."

Seeing the beseeching look that both Miles and Courtney were giving Katrinka, unknown to the other, P.J. and Jeneane tried as hard as they could not to snicker. After a few moments of thought, the concerned mother agreed with a heavy sigh. "Alright, we'll give you a ride to your car but one of you has a cellular phone in case something else happens don't you?"

Blushing at the reason why Miles didn't have one, Courtney fished around in her purse and presented hers as proof. "I have one right here."

"Well, come on then," Katrinka instructed as she motioned with her arm, "let's get out of here."

After a short walk, the five reached a metallic blue sports utility vehicle, all the windows smeared with nose and paw prints. Added to that, high-pitched barking, along with whining came from the vehicle, and Courtney remarked with reserved disbelief, “You got another dog?”

P.J. opened the door, and instantly grimaced as he picked up the puppy before it bounded out of the car. "Awww, Mom, she left a huge accident on the floor mat!"

Katrinka looked inside and there were two small, well-formed, solid little droppings on the carpeted mat. With a scoff, the seasoned veterinarian remarked, "Good grief that's nothing!" With care, she gingerly folded the mat, and then dragged it out. With twisted pride at her years of experience, she boasted, "I've seen poop jobs that would blow your mind!" The woman carefully took the mat to the nearest garbage can, and winked at Miles. "In the words of your great-grandfather, you didn't see nothin'!" Courtney’s eyebrow cocked upwards as the resourceful woman then dumped the noxious matter into the garbage can and then replaced the mat in the car. "Hillwood City ordinances say that when you curb your dog the droppings should be tied up in a bag, but I don’t have one here, so I won't tell if you don't."

The kids loaded into the vehicle, and P.J. took his usual spot and sat down, only to feel something warm soak into his jeans, and boxers underneath. With a grimace, and slightly rising his buttocks up out of the seat. "Awww, damn!" Before she could get onto him for language, P.J. looked up at his mother into the rear view mirror and declared, "The puppy didn't just crap the floor, Mom, it also wet the seat!"

As the lukewarm wetness in P.J.'s pants began to cool to an uncomfortable temperature, none of his friends laughed which he appreciated, and while tactful silence took over the cabin, Jeneane looked behind herself from the front passenger seat at Miles and Courtney. With more than passing interest, tactlessly, 'Jen asked, "Does this mean you two are a couple now?”

"Jesus, 'Jen." P.J. heavily sighed as he gave in, and put all of his weight back down into the damp seat, and then the defeated boy crossed his arms and let the side of his head hit the window rather hard.

“What?” Then Jen shrugged, “I just wanna‘ know so _I’ll_ be ahead of Andrea and Jella in the loop for a change.”

Katrinka desperately tried not to chuckle as Miles looked completely clueless.

In turn, Courtney and 'Jen shared a smile, and to P.J.' s delight, the puppy climbed back into his lap and began to fiercely chew and pull on the loose fringes of his best pair of blue jeans once more with renewed vigor.

* * *

Glaring at the beautiful red sports car wasted on bastards, Hillwood’s dark avenger was so damned angry; his leg didn’t even hurt anymore.

Laughter and loud music was pouring out of the open windows, but as Monkeyman patted his bandolier, he relished the fact that he had so many wonderful little things in his non-lethal bag of tricks that could absolutely ruin their evening.

There were delightful little pellets filled with goop, that when thrown on pavement nothing could get traction on it. The slick, viscous material made muggers slip and fall; and tires spin as if the surface beneath them were wet ice coated with oil. If he were lucky, the rotten little bastard would burn the transmission of his car up trying to get free.

He had another small bag of pellets that when thrown and punctured, produced the worst vomit and shit smelling foulness that one could possibly imagine. The hellish stench was perfectly capable of permeating building air ducts, clothing, and vehicle air conditioning systems, ruining them permanently if the neutralizing agent was not used.

Coincidentally, the foul smell capsule was exactly what Monkeyman had in his hand to jettison into the car’s cabin.

The cowardly little turds were shit, so why shouldn't they smell like it?

No matter how desperately he wanted to throw it though, Monkeyman stayed his hand until the light turned green, and the car sped away and with the opportunity for revenge missed, he placed the pellet safely back in his pouch.

Monkeyman's function in the world was to be a protector of the weak and downtrodden, and nowhere in the superhero credo that he rigidly followed were there any allowances for revenge, personal or otherwise listed.

The day that he started doling justice the way he saw fit should be the same day that he should pass on the mantle of Monkeyman to someone with more honor.

As the dark protector watched the red taillights fade into the distance, Monkeyman realized with shame that Rhonda’s daughter had more sense in the matter than he did.

He had more important concerns to attend to that evening anyway.

* * *

Parked underneath the dim, yellow filter of a loudly buzzing streetlight in front of a tenement slum, she waited with anxiety while grasping the only lovely thing in sight.

Made of the finest gold and silver that money could buy, she clutched the small crucifix her grandfather gave her when christened, hoping that its well-worn features would somehow steel her resolve, and grant its blessing and success in the task ahead.

The Bible is full of stories about the redemption of sinners, and the goodness that could reside in all men if given a chance with love. People tend to forget, however, that it is also a repository of parables that punish the wickedness and evil of others by both God’s just hand, and those acting in his stead who curry his favor.

Reflecting on the afterlife, sins, divine justice, and if any of what she was going to do would be forgiven by God, she realized that whether she acted tonight or not, she was already assured her rightful place in hell.

It was no less than she deserved, that would be justice, not only for her apathy, but for selfishness too. She wished she could back time up, do better, and redeem her shameful sins, but now it truly was too late; there would be no atonement for any of her wrongs, so she stoically accepted the consequences.

She had once heard that if you were the monster, you never had any need to fear the dark.

Despite the fact her plans were carefully laid to the smallest detail, that her mind was made up, and her sweaty, shaking hand gripped one and a half pounds of loaded steel that was supposed to assuage her sleepless nights and crushing guilt, all her preparations were all for naught. She was still terrified at the prospect of facing him, nevertheless she was going to, and he should have been there by now.

Expectantly, the fretful woman circuitously repeated the action of glancing downwards into her lap, the sidewalk, and then the cracked face of a watch in a mechanical manner in a poor attempt at being as unfeeling and steady as the damaged, two thousand dollar silver timepiece that clung to her wrist.

If Rhonda’s heavily worn women’s sport watch was true to its selling point of being accurate within one second of Greenwich Time, it was eleven thirty two P.M.

Five minutes past the time she died.

More concerned than given credit for, she kept the anniversary religiously, fantasizing about airing some of her grievances with the man she was meeting that evening that had lain festering in her heart for over twenty long years. She knew what she was doing and why, but for all her preparations the frightened woman was beginning to wonder if she were really going to actually go through with them or not.

During the past couple of weeks, she spent stalking him to observe his schedule and finding it was surprisingly dependable; she had the opportunity to follow through with her plans many times before that evening.

For whatever reason though, from freezing in the face of what she felt was her duty, or just plain cowardice, each failed opportunity to act made her shame grow even more.

Deciding it was high time that she bucked up and finally did the deed, the angry woman vowed she wasn’t going to run this time.

By God, he was finally going to know by the end of the evening that he hadn’t gotten away with any of the evil things he had done during the course of his sorry life of preying on the defenseless.

Simply because his “debt” to the state had supposedly been paid enough to grant him a chance at freedom he didn’t deserve, it didn’t mean that he didn’t still owe the victims and families that he hurt, and if she had her way, he was going to pay in full with interest tonight.

She wondered if the bastard would have the courage to blow her a kiss and then smirk at her as he did during the trial that put him in prison.

If he did, his slimy little gesture would be short lived because she was going to blow the smile clean off his face along with half of his fucking head.

She hadn’t visited them in months, but as she waited, the socialite observed that her squalid surroundings, which resembled the very threshold of Hell, were so much different from the chic uptown boutiques and trendy little coffee houses she once frequented regularly.

Looking at the dirtiness of the area, she had no idea how people could bring themselves to live in such filth, and reasoned that just because one was underprivileged, it didn’t mean that you should simply give up completely. From personal experience, she found that even at the worst of times, if one had a little pride and some dignity, they could recover from being at rock bottom and be better for it, but one thing was absolutely certain.

If you had merely suggested that she would have set foot in this section of town, much less at this time of night before any of this happened, she would have laughed aloud for an extended amount of time.

Most likely in your face.

* * *

Safely ensconced in the confines of a rooftop corner atop the four-story apartment building across the street; well beyond the sight of the stalker that she shadowed, the worried protector kept a watchful eye on the society elite with care to make sure that she was,

One: safe, and,

Two: did not do anything irrevocably stupid.

It had been quite awhile since she had personally gone out into the field to conduct a high sensitivity stakeout such as this one, a few years actually. Had it been any other circumstance, she would have both relished the opportunity to reminisce with her younger days of fighting the good fight and exhilarated to be free from the confines of headquarters.

Tonight was different though and Bridget was in a somber mood.

As a chilled, early autumn breeze rifled its fingers through her long, softly graying hair, the lavender clad adventurer and semi-retired dispenser of justice observed her target with a heavy sigh and an indiscernible shake of her head.

At least she wasn’t hard to spot.

Just as subtle as the bright red ass of a baboon, in that rough quarter, Rhonda’s silver, mirror polished Mercedes sports coupe stuck out as a glistening diamond in the middle of a pile of shit.

A novice at best, Bridget’s target for observation was unfocused, jumped at the slightest noise, and looked frightened. Given the high quality of the neighborhood, the woman had a damn good reason to be apprehensive, and with the unprecedented unfamiliarity that her charge had with the seedier side of life, her behaviors were a dangerous, if not deadly combination; not only to the person she stalked but to herself as well.

This situation was deadly serious, but for all its gravity, Bridget couldn’t help but allow a tiny, silent laugh expel through her nose at the absurd notion of it all.

Mrs. Brooke Wellington O’Shea Lloyd buying a nine-millimeter handgun with every intention of assassinating someone with it was like Doctor Helga Geraldine Pataki Shortman cooking a full, ten course French inspired meal without burning any of it and every morsel being fit to eat.

Absolutely impossible.

And yet, as the latter would say during one of her many dramatic childhood monologues, here Bridget found herself, sitting out in the cold dark sipping bad, lukewarm coffee and hoping like hell that she didn’t have a reason to interfere on the street below.

Even though Mrs. Lloyd hadn’t done anything drastic in the time that she had been keeping her pet project under surveillance in the past couple weeks, Bridget gathered that it wouldn’t be long until Brooke worked up enough nerve to give her disaster laden plans a try.

This situation wasn’t nearly as bad as it could be by any stretch of the imagination, but it was still serious enough to merit her personal intervention because many lives, not to mention the future of the company and the people associated with it hung in the balance.

Breaking from her thoughts, Bridget snapped the binoculars hanging around her neck up to her eyes to watch not only Brooke’s movements, but also a long shadow approaching from down the sidewalk.

Still limping from a series of permanent injuries received over twenty years prior, a man was staggering up the street on the way home after another night of heavy drinking. Because of the nature of his incarceration, Bridget was already keeping close tabs on his activities round the clock looking for the slightest hint of recidivistic behavior, which as a serendipitous result, brought Mrs. Lloyd’s recently acquired interest in late night slumming to her attention.

After careful scrutiny of both his day, and nighttime routine, Bridget found his time consisted of sleeping, chain smoking, and committing personal acts she’d much rather not think about as he read magazines bought from behind the counter of convenience stores. The seasoned detective was trained from not only the book but also experience to not assume, however Bridget did wager an educated guess that he had spent a large percentage of the gate money he received upon his release from prison on his two week long celebratory bender, instead of groceries while he looked for gainful employment.

Hoping the indolent piece of trash would not get a job, therefore violate his parole and wind up back in prison where his sorry ass belonged in the first place, the ironic thing about the entire mission was that Bridget did not give a tinker’s damn about what happened to him at all. Hypocritical to the limit, she felt that whatever punishment fate deigned for him, he rightfully deserved, even worse.

The only reason why she was there at all was that it would be an injustice for the poor, heartbroken woman below to ruin the rest of her life over the waste of humanity that was walking towards her unaware of the real mortal peril that he was in.

Soon enough, the drunken lout lumbered towards the small silver car at a dangerously snail like pace and movement came from the occupant within the silver vehicle below.

Putting her foot on the ledge of the roof in anticipation while placing a hand on the bar of a well placed zip line to slide down in order to halt the proceedings, at the last second the motor of the silver car below turned over, and it nimbly sped away into the night.

Focusing on the small red taillights fading into the distance, Bridget made sure that the car was not turning around and when she was satisfied Brooke wasn‘t returning, she turned her state of the art optics towards man in question.

The disgusting man watched the car speed away himself, blissfully unaware of just how close to bloody judgment he had come, easily dismissing it to laboriously pull himself up the outside steps to the entry of his filthy abode. Watching until he closed the heavily dented steel door to his apartment, then through his window, Bridget felt a measure of relief when he finally collapsed onto a stained, faded couch to sleep off his drunk.

Tenuously safe, at least for one more night, Bridget placed her binoculars back in their protective case and then scanned her surroundings well for more winos and opportunistic ne’er do wells.

Satisfied that she wouldn’t become a victim herself that evening in her fine milieu, Bridget disembarked the rooftop via the building’s fire escape. After walking down the tight, black alleyway where she concealed her car, Bridget removed a limp, dirty sheet of cardboard she had used to conceal her Jaguar's shiny grille, tossed it aside, opened the door, got in and then immediately locked it back.

After fastening her safety belt, and taking in a long, fragrant drag of cool, leather scented air, Bridget pulled on a pair of skintight driving gloves. After bridging her fingers to secure the fit, she gripped the steering wheel tightly in the dark silence of her sleek black British import while gravely pondering her options.

Rubbing the lids of her tired eyes with the heels of her hands, she reasoned that she couldn’t possibly keep doing this every night. Grimly, Bridget considered that this macabre dance of frightened cat, and oblivious mouse would, without any doubt, would wind up ending badly if she didn‘t do something, now.

Unconsciously massaging her slick thumb in the middle of the horn button deep in thought, she knew that she was going to have a put an end to this soon, but was at a loss of how to do it tactfully, and ending this tactfully was the key. For a short time, Bridget entertained the notion of enlisting the help of Monkeyman, but he was too personally involved to be objective.

It was water under the bridge, but that still did not mean that the fact he had gone rogue in his early days over this case wasn‘t a factor, so she decided to keep him in the dark about what Mrs. Lloyd was up to as well.

Stubborn as a stoned mule, Bridget knew exactly where her daughter Rhonda inherited the trait.

From battling all comers to emerge victorious as president of the Hillwood City Ladies’ League to the notion of killing the worthless sack of shit in the apartment across the way, Brooke Lloyd was not wont to abandon the completion of a goal once firmly implanted in her head.

Bridget figured a woman could get much farther with Mrs. Lloyd than a man could anyway, and she had the added benefit of personally understanding the seductive call of hateful revenge when feeling rightfully justified in taking it.

Keeping that in mind, Bridget knew that she would also need to employ a great amount of not only careful tact, but also empathy while speaking with Brooke to dissuade her from her plans. If she barreled into the situation with a condescending attitude towards her actions, or just flat out said it wasn’t going to happen or else, Mrs. Lloyd would neither respect, or listen to anything she had to say, perhaps even pressing forward with alternate plans that neither she nor her support team could circumvent.

Luckily, just as Mr. Dobbs, Mrs. Lloyd was a creature of habit as well, so Bridget knew where to find her tonight and perhaps she could have a calm, rational, non-threatening chat with her about this situation before it escalated any further than it had already.

She _hoped_.

A perquisite, the location of Bridget’s intervention would also spare the elder woman added embarrassment. It would not do for her husband, Buchwald to discover his wife was out having a deadly assignation with another man, instead of out playing a benign game of cards with her bridge club as she had been telling him for the past few weeks during his rare moments of clarity.

While trying to think of the right thing to say, Bridget turned the ignition, gunned the accelerator a couple of times to enjoy the low purr of the exhaust, and then pulled out of the alleyway to drive downtown set to commit the all too familiar crime of trespassing, but without the benefit of enjoying it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Arnold was created by Craig Bartlett and is owned by Viacom Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> Corvette is a registered trademark of General Motors Company Incorporated. No infringement on their property is not implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> Jaguar is a registered trademark of Ford Motor Company Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> Mercedes is a registered trademark of Daimler AC Corporation. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred 
> 
> Transformers and its respective character names are the property of Hasbro Inc., under license of Takrara/Tomy Ltd. of Japan. No Infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The dialogue, characters, and location, Leia Organa, Han Solo, Chewbacca, Mynocks, and Hoth, were all created/written by George Lucas, and are featured in the movie, Star Wars: the Empire Strikes Back, which is the property of Walt Disney Pictures Inc. No infringement on their property/creations is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> Summer’s Eve is a registered trademark of Fleet Laboratories infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from the song; "Reminiscing" composed by Graham Goble, and performed by The Little River Band. No Infringement on their property is implied nor should be inferred.


	16. The Afternoon/The Night

_Tuesday, April first, April Fools Day: The Afternoon_

Due to the risk of infection owing to her weakened immune system brought on by chemotherapy and radiation treatments, physicians left draconian orders dictating she stay inside her home until told otherwise.

How anything managed to live in her body, good or bad she was hard pressed to imagine.

After enduring the equivalent of shoving her in a microwave set on high to cook, injecting her veins with insidious looking yellow stuff that resembled high-octane gasoline, and afterwards a course of antibiotics that could cleanse the bottom of a filthy dumpster since last November; Rhonda felt like she had been through the wringer.

Being sequestered to the house was bad enough, but in addition, she was forbidden to go outside, even with a mask; therefore, she was unable to sit in her own garden, much less prune the rose bushes she loved so dearly.

It was spring, and they really did not need it yet, but it was as good an excuse as any to fudge the mandate a bit, at least to attempt a bid for some form of sweet freedom.

Patience never being her stronger suit, Rhonda repeatedly attempted to slip out of the house against her doctor’s advisory only to find her housekeeper, husband, and surprisingly enough, her own daughter, who traditionally, was a partner in crime, were all equal to the task of bringing her to heel.

More than once.

True, she appreciated everyone’s concern and care, but she was a full-grown woman and wanted the ability to make decisions based upon how she felt on a given day rather than what she was told to do every day. It was annoying to have Thad, Courtney, and everyone in the house watching her like a hawk while treating her like a child and hounding her in English, Spanish, _and_ Italian asking, ‘what are you up to’ and ‘where are you going’ every blooming minute which made it extremely difficult to disobey doctors’ orders in the first place.

Eventually they managed to break even her and she gave up trying to escape her gilded prison, but at least everyone was kind enough to attempt to make her voluntary imprisonment bearable in their own way.

With all that “free time” on her hands, at least she found perverse entertainment the last couple of weeks of her quarantine in harassing her physician for the official blessing to venture out with calls in both the morning and afternoon to his office.

Every.

Damn.

Day.

After yesterday morning’s visit to the oncologist, and the good news that it appeared she was in remission, and that she’d actually put a couple of pounds on her frame instead of losing them, here she finally was.

It certainly took long enough, and she thoroughly enjoyed reacquainting herself with the thrill of stalking prey armed with her weapon of choice: dangerous, no limit plastic, deep in the untamed wilds of her natural environment.

The crowded cafes and chic boutiques of downtown Hillwood City.

She appreciated the care everyone at home gave her, she truly did, but to say Rhonda was elated to leave the house and have a few minutes alone without someone hovering over her would be an understatement. She was nowhere near her old self, but gradually she was getting there.

Sooner than she liked though, Rhonda knew she would have to go home, by not only the constraints of time, but also those of her body. On her first day back, as everyone predicted she overdid it, which was the reason, why the “three C’s”, Curly, Courtney, and Consuela wouldn’t allow her to fudge the rules and go anywhere to begin with.

Noticing her reflection in a shop front window, at least for the time being, the thick red Caprini sweater she chose that morning to wear filled in the gaps on her torso, draping over her hips, and concealed the slender frame housed in her Capris quite well in her estimation.

Starting to tire more as the time on her feet progressed, at least she looked good, and with what her shit-ass husband called “ _the pimp hat_ ” covering her head along with a silk scarf underneath her chin, wrapped around her neck, and loosely tied, you could scarcely tell she had been ill at all.

Okay, that was pushing it _a bit_.

Primping a last time in her reflection, as her wise, but as of late, neglected hairdresser Fernando often loved to say, it was better to look good than to feel good, so if thin mannequins could get away with it in shop windows and look fantastic, so could she.

Challenging her outlook, a light breeze blew around her, threatening to lift the hat and long red scarf wrapped around her head meant to protect her ears and scalp from sunburn. Hurriedly slapping her palm atop her head to keep her chic accessories from blowing away, Rhonda quickly retied the scarf under her chin a little more tightly before anyone saw.

Crisis averted, it was only after she stopped and stood still a few moments that she realized how over extended she really was. Earlier, her high level of energy surprised even her, and Rhonda took full advantage of it, but now she regretted her overzealousness because with all the walking she’d done, even with her breaks in between shops, she was tired and a little out of breath.

Despite those drawbacks and the fact that her purse got heavier by the moment along with the cords of heavy shopping bags that were cutting into the palms of her hands, it was still good to feel the way she did before any of this happened, if only for a little while.

It was so nice to see everyone again too, and though it had been a long time, the shopkeepers seemed to miss her, which was sweet. Though she could not smell or taste it well, Rhonda still enjoyed the latte, crispy chocolate-coated biscotti, conversation, and kindness the owner of her favorite bakery and coffee house treated her with.

After the visit to Sink, Tub, & Kitchen, and catching up on the juicy gossip at Fernando‘s even though she didn‘t have so much as a single strand of hair for him to work on, Rhonda wondered if she had been foolish for her last stop.

Glancing down at the small white and yellow striped bag she carried that held a large box inside, after everything she survived, vanity should definitely be an afterthought, but Rhonda knew she would need this until her own hair grew back if she were going out in public more often. No one knew about it, but Rhonda also had a special guest calling later in the evening; and of course she wanted to look her best, and not as she did now, like a bald turkey buzzard.

Rhonda never had a reason to visit a store which catered to such needs before now, didn‘t know what to expect, and to tell the truth, was a little embarrassed, but to her relief and surprise, the staff was exceedingly kind, not to mention patient. Though it took her well over two hours of trying on items, agonizing over color, style, and then fitting; Rhonda found after the experience that she rather enjoyed it.

Shopping for _any_ reason, even an unfortunate one was _still_ shopping.

Walking a bit further down the warm sidewalk on smarting feet, Rhonda began looking for one of the many benches located there to rest on before finishing the short journey towards the storefront where she parked Thad’s car. Thankfully, it was within sight, but in her currently fagged condition, it might as well be a mile away. Frankly, she hadn’t wanted to take the car as that was her husband‘s baby, but her gorgeous, yet problematic little silver number was in the shop, again, and she had no other choice.

Several times her husband generously offered to buy her a new car, citing that the repair bills for the old one over the years nearly amounted to the price of a new one, but Rhonda thought it would be a betrayal to a vehicle she‘d spent so much of her life in, so she insisted upon keeping it. A lavish present from her parents after graduating high school, through the years Rhonda became attached to the sleek, silver convertible, she and the old car had more history together than some people she knew, so she couldn’t bring herself to trade.

Therefore, Thad had his old station wagon at work, and yesterday afternoon Courtney found some part her Corvette needed to run and beat it onto the car with a hammer and a shameless amount of profanity the night before in time to drive it school and a track meet in Pleasantville that day. Though he offered as a joke, and she did know how to ride it even though she didn’t have an endorsement on her driver’s license, there was no way in hell Rhonda was climbing on the back of that rickety old deathtrap of a motorcycle Thaddeus playfully dubbed ‘nutcracker‘ to go anywhere, much less downtown.

Spying a bench ahead near her daughter’s place of employment, her steps slowed, and as soon as Rhonda sat, relief washed over her thin frame as she exhaled a deep sigh, relaxing her back as the heat from the afternoon sun soaked from the wooden slats into her weakened muscles and sore joints. Reaching into one of the smaller bags inside one of the larger ones, Rhonda rummaged inside until she found a bit of bread crust to pinch off. Rolling it between her thumb and forefingers to sprinkle crumbs onto the sidewalk, Rhonda fed the cooing pigeons milling about her sandaled feet, reminding her of the wonderful summer family trip to Europe last year, in particular the city of Milan.

It was so peaceful there, she was so happy then, spending time with her Thad and Courtney, and in this moment, Rhonda was happy too, enjoying this tranquil moment with a smile, taking in the heat of the afternoon sun along with the sights and sounds of her lovely hometown.

Glancing to her side, Rhonda’s revelry was broken when she observed a familiar figure in the distance walking towards her.

Squinting deep brown eyes over her red rimmed Caprini sunglasses, though he’d been poking around the border of their property for months, Rhonda had mixed feelings about seeing the boy at this moment. For a second, she had a real desire to set upon him with the very same purse she attempted to beat the hell out of Monkeyman with years before, but no matter how she felt, she knew she would have to use diplomacy because of who the idiot was, or more specifically, who that idiot belonged to.

One thing was for certain, there was no way Helga Shortman, née Pataki, could possibly deny parentage of that kid, and as the young man neared, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, Rhonda draped her arm across the hot back of the bench she sat on calculating the proper moment to announce her presence.

* * *

The one day he needed to get to his place of employment earlier than usual, his sister had their car, his mother and father were having a “date night”, so the Packard was gone, and his mother’s car wasn’t even a consideration. Going out on a limb, Miles asked her if he could drive the Corvette to work, and when she asked him rhetorically if pigeons still pooped, he knew the answer immediately.

Therefore, as he skulked on the sidewalks of Hillwood City, knowing he couldn’t be at the one place he wanted to be now, and not wanting to get to his job a minute before he had to, he still wound up on the most direct route to work without intentionally doing so. Then again, with muscle memory and the fact that he had done it so much, he didn’t even realize that all his roads seemingly lead to there anyway.

As Miles Shortman paused at the familiar front and absentmindedly stared through the window where the girl he loved worked, he heard a throat behind him clear, and if he weren’t mistaken, done in a rather theatrical way meant to grab his attention.

Before Miles could turn his head, he was informed of what he already knew. “She’s not there.”

What greeted him when he turned his head was somewhat unsettling for a myriad of reasons.

At first, Miles did not recognize her, but as the pale, rather thin woman turned in her seat on the bench and pushed the wide white brim of an overlarge sun hat upwards with her index finger, he slowly recognized the woman scrutinizing him and saw the toll the illness she fought had taken upon her.

Secondly, he was ashamed to see Mrs. Gammelthorpe because of the terrible way he‘d acted towards her daughter and he felt as though he did not even have the right to look her in the eyes.

Miles could not even make any denials, or ignore the woman by pretending he had not seen her because they were looking straight at each other. His parents would murder him if he walked past without politely greeting her, though he would never do something like that anyway.

So as he stood there, the only thing Miles Shortman could do in his delicate predicament was wonder if Courtney’s mother was going to thrash him with any of the bags to her side or the large red, rather heavy looking purse that had two gold chains as straps if he gathered the nerve to actually say something.

Though her voice was soft in tone, despite her best effort, there was a still a slight hint of irritation on the edge of Rhonda’s voice when she informed the foolish boy with an impatient sigh, “Courtney has a track meet in Pleasantville today.”

No sense in making an excuse, astoundingly, Miles told the truth. “Yes, ma’am, I know.”

The interested mother studied the young man for a moment. “I wish I could have gone to cheer her on myself, but I can only leave home for short trips and my physician has ordered that I can’t be around large crowds for now.” With a smirk knowing it was the truth, Rhonda admitted, “Staying out for so long today was definitely pushing it further than I should have as well.” Rhonda lowered her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose a little further to inspect the vexing young man. “To be honest, I’m rather surprised you aren’t there to watch Courtney compete yourself.”

Miles looked away feeling guilty and oddly enough, as though he’d let Courtney down with his absence. “I wanted to go, but I have to get to work early this afternoon, my sister is at the meet as well and she had to take the car we drive to get there. Mom and dad are out for the evening, so I left home early to make sure I get to work on time.”

A thought occurred to Rhonda. “I thought Gertrude played basketball, and is on the swimming and debate team.” Not seeing how the girl could possibly do everything with the added burden of her schoolwork, Rhonda wondered, “Did she join the track team this year as well?”

“Oh, no, Mrs. Gammelthorpe, Gertie isn’t doing track and she was thrown off the debate team last year.”

How she could have possibly forgotten, Rhonda did not know. “Oh, yes, now I remember. For the record, I feel Gertrude was robbed of her victory because she made her point concisely and without question won the match.”

“Gertie thought she‘d won too.” He paused and then expounded, “Yours and Mr. Gammelthorpe’s standing ovation was memorable.” Exhaling a breath, Miles rubbed the back of his neck recalling the considerable stir his sister’s final rebuttal during the debate of Hillwood High versus Forsyth Country Day School created. “The principal, my mom, and to a lesser extent, my dad, weren’t as impressed as you two were.”

Rhonda remarked, “Your mom was pretty angry with me and Thad for awhile too, especially after we sent your sister flowers for her untallied triumph." She couldn't help but laugh. "Helga forgave us both for it eventually, thank goodness.” Chuckling, she asked, “Why is Gertie at the track meet then?”

“She went because mom baked a bunch of cookies and stuff for the team. She volunteered to help with hauling their supplies and setting up snack tables or something, I am not sure exactly. She can‘t stay the whole time though, because she needs to drive back to town to go to her job at the comics shop.”

“Well, it’s still nice of your mother and sister to help out nonetheless.” As she pushed her shades back upwards, Rhonda smiled. “Courtney says your mother’s cookies are better than mine.”

Miles politely countered, “I’m sure your cookies are good too, ma’am.”

Rhonda shook her head. “No, your mother’s cookies are definitely better than mine because I don’t bake _or_ cook.” Miles didn’t quite know how to respond, but Rhonda was kind enough to spare him with a joke. “Trust me, sweetie it’s the best for everyone involved.” She ended honestly, “My Thaddeus is an excellent cook, but he doesn’t have the time to do such usually because of business and his mayoral duties, so the cookies that find their way to track meets and other sporting events from my kitchen are made by our wonderful Consuela.”

Miles shrugged. “We all have our strengths and weaknesses, Mrs. Gammelthorpe.” He honestly complimented, “Your paintings are beautiful. Mom still has the one you gave her hanging on the wall in the foyer, and the book you signed to me when I was little is still on my shelf.”

Rhonda’s eyes slightly squinted at the boy, despite her best effort he was making it very difficult to dislike him, his charming demeanor a useful talent passed down from his mother by observation she surmised. Genuinely curious and knowing full well part of the reason why, she wondered, “So, Miles, what does bring you to downtown Hillwood so early this afternoon?”

Miles was surprised that Courtney‘s mother hadn’t pressed any further about why he was looking in her daughter’s place of employment and took it as a blessing that a crisis had been averted. “We all have to go in early because Mr. Chicken’s was closed all day yesterday; there was another grease fire in the kitchen area.” Clearly disappointed in the lack of destruction done to his favorite hellhole, Miles added, “The fire was put out before any serious damage was done to the property other than the fryers. After the fire investigator gave the all clear, the manager wouldn’t hire a professional cleaning service because he says it costs too much money, so the staff is cleaning the smoke and water damage and being paid our normal hourly wage if the restaurant were open.” He rubbed the back of his neck, “I don’t want to bail on my friends, but I’m not in too big a hurry to get there either.” He truthfully volunteered, “It smells even worse in there now and the manager doesn’t like me that much either.”

Her interest piqued, Rhonda questioned, “Well, since it is fairly obvious that you don’t like working there, or your employer, why stay?” She waved her hand across the businesses in front of them located on the main drag. “There are plenty of part time jobs around a town this size for a person of your age to apply for.”

Miles shrugged, “Well, I go to school with a lot of the people who work there like Stinki Petersen, and they make it a little fun at least.” He shrugged, “Besides, it would be unfair to just leave because their workload would increase due to being shorthanded, and having to use their time on the clock to train someone new to operate the mop that’s never used.”

“Hmm, well that’s admirable of you, Miles.” Her lips turned up to one side, “However, I prefer to believe that you are simply a masochist and enjoy suffering.” Choosing to not mention any more about that atrocious restaurant, its’ even more disgusting signature menu items, and truly interested in his behavior, Rhonda wondered, “Well, since you knew Courtney wasn’t at work today, why were you looking in the window for her?”

Caught out, Miles cringed inside at just how downright creepy his behavior had been, and thankfully, the woman seated in front of him did not know the half of it. “I guess I just…. do it out of habit, Ma‘am.”

“Hmmm.” Rhonda answered noncommittally as she studied Helga’s son, weighing her options carefully. She could just as easily have made a delightful scene and given him a piece of her mind, letting him know the true depths of the needless suffering he had inflicted on her child over the years. Neither Helga nor even Arnold himself could blame her if she did, but that would not help a thing.

After deigning mercy for the sake of his lineage, Rhonda said with a sideways smile, “You seem to have a lot of perplexing habits, Miles Shortman, looking for someone you supposedly don’t care much for.”

Miles had absolutely nothing to say, he could only look her in the eye with all the dignity he could muster, and it wasn’t much. “I don’t dislike Courtney, Mrs. Gammelthorpe.”

Rhonda sighed, satisfied with his response. “I know you don’t.” Reminded of just how much this imprudent, silly thing was like his mother, Rhonda found enough pity in her heart for the young fool to actually try to help him. “How much longer do you have until you have to be at work?”

The flashing lights of a bank branch’s sign display was too far down the road to see, so he reached into his back pocket and produced his phone, sliding it on. “I have to be there in forty six minutes, ma’am.”

“Well then,” Rhonda heartily patted the empty space on the bench beside her, “Since you have a few minutes and say you’re not in a hurry to get to work, won’t you humor a lady and sit for a few minutes?” She politely added, “Please?” Smirking she reasoned, “It isn’t often that I get to share the company of such a handsome young man.”

Feeling he could hardly refuse, Miles walked towards the woman, taking care to not harm the pigeons gathered around the feet of the bench, and sat down beside her.

Reaching down, Rhonda picked up the bag of baked goods at her feet, and searching the contents for options, Rhonda generously offered, “Would you like a fresh croissant or a crust of pane casa?”

Miles shook his head and politely declined, “No, ma’am, I had an early dinner, but thank you.”

Rhonda rifled through the paper bag by her feet and pulled out a moderately sized chunk of bread. “Well, if you aren’t going to eat anything, at least give those poor skinny pigeons something.” Rhonda and Miles looked down at the grey birds, admiring the fat fowl pecking the sidewalk while waddling around their feet.

Miles chuckled lightly and took the crust proffered by his surprising bench mate. “They do look like they‘re starving, don’t they?”

Many people would simply drop the large piece of bread onto the ground and allow the birds to peck and tear away at the portion as best they could. Rhonda noticed however, that as she did, the Shortman boy rolled the crumbs in between his fingers to make it easier for them to procure.

As Miles sprinkled the smaller crumbs onto the ground at the birds’ level so that they could eat, he froze when Courtney’s mother stated in a neutral tone, “So, Miles, you’re in love with my daughter.”

It was not even a question, but a statement, and a true one at that.

Rhonda’s eyebrow arched upwards as Miles’ eyes widened and it was obvious he was attempting to cobble together an answer in his mind that wouldn’t implicate his true feelings or get his ass kicked. With a weary sigh that indicated she was truly tired of his shit, Rhonda stated, “My time is somewhat truncated these days, son, and you need to get to work shortly. I could start out with pointless small talk about where you think you might go to school in the fall of next year, or the Figs’ basketball schedule before getting to the heart of this matter, but let’s cut through your mother’s favorite word and get to it, shall we?”

Miles nodded agreement, “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I do.” He thought a moment and with a short answer that said it all, Miles declared with all the truth in his heart, “After spending a little time with her, how could anyone _not_ fall in love with Courtney?”

She figured she’d have to pull the truth out of the boy with chains and a tow truck, but the openness and candor of Miles’ response surprised the hell right out of Rhonda, that much was for sure as she pinched the bridge of her nose with a heavy sigh.

Frankly, Rhonda was not prepared for that, so rewarding his truthfulness, she managed to keep the bitterness out of her voice, but the disappointment was evident in her incredulous tone as she stated bluntly while holding her hand up, “I don’t even see how you’ve gotten yourself into the predicament that you are in now.” She tore off another crust of bread from the greasy, wrinkled, slightly torn kraft bag, but this time for herself. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some of this? The texture is quite nice.” When Miles shook his head no, Rhonda bit into the crispy, egg washed crust and announced, “When you and my Courtney were little you two nearly couldn’t bear to be apart from one another!” She shook her head with the adorable innocence of it all. “You were so close that Thad, me, and your parents would joke about who was going to pay for the wedding when you got older.”

Miles had sense enough to know he had no right to apologize to Courtney’s mother for his behavior, so he had no other response to the weight of his treatment of her daughter other than to look down in shameful regret. He worried his crumb-covered fingers and dashed them off his pant legs, simply so he had something to do with his hands as he avoided eye contact with the woman seated beside him.

Observing his shamed actions, Rhonda found it surprising that her feelings went out to the boy after everything he had done. It would definitely be a betrayal to her daughter to hint that this was not quite the one-sided attraction Miles Shortman thought it was, but she decided to help him along, if for nothing else, her daughter‘s sake.

It was true what she’d said about Courtney and Miles’ attachment when they were young children, but there were also many instances over the years, in particular more recent ones, in which she had caught not only Miles looking at Courtney, but the girl glancing or just outright staring at the foolish boy sitting beside her at school functions.

Certainly, Courtney did not realize she knew about it, but last year she had even gone as far as to purchase an individual team picture of the very boy sitting beside her at school and had it secreted in the back of her desk drawer.

Rhonda found the item completely by accident one weekend when her daughter was away at summer music camp and she was searching for a broad tipped, black permanent marker in which to draw a large, imposing penis on Thad‘s face while he napped off a couple of beers downstairs on the living room couch for old time’s sake.

Furthermore, even when Courtney confided in her that she was nearly at her limit with Miles Shortman and his bountiful stupidity in the form of teasing and simply being a dumbass in general, there just might have been enough fondness for the boy in her subconscious that somewhat dulled her anger with him.

Rhonda wasn’t making excuses for Miles though; he was completely in the wrong and needed to prove himself worthy of her daughter, not the other way around.

Therefore, with her better nature as a guide, Rhonda spoke truthfully omitting certain facts here and there, “I’ve seen some extremely shocking behavior from you, Miles Shortman, but Courtney has tolerated it because she is a kind and forgiving soul.” Miles expected a lecture about the wrongfulness of his actions and why she was going to call the police if he so much as looked at her little girl again, but before he could think of answering, Rhonda added, “I hope you realize, and soon, that she won‘t do that for much longer.” Miles was shocked to hear, “I know that at heart you’re a good boy, and I suspect that you have acted like a jackass for years, for whatever stupid reason, to cover up the fact that you truly do care for her.”

Rhonda gave Miles a wary look. “I’m not pardoning your behavior by any stretch of the imagination, but by observation and experience, I know that love is strange and that sometimes people don’t know how to express their feelings in appropriate ways.” Rhonda rolled her eyes. “The apple certainly doesn’t fall far from the tree, I can tell you that much, your own mother‘s childhood antics spring to mind.” She heaved a weary sigh. “Dear Lord, I’m not even going to go into Courtney’s father and all the crazy stuff he’d do to try and get my attention.” Not mentioning their friendship with his parents, Rhonda informed with no humor, “That’s why I’m letting you live, Miles Shortman, because I know your heart isn’t really in any of the senseless garbage you do.” Miles’ eyes widened as she continued, “If you care for Courtney as much as I suspect,” Rhonda gently placed her fingers onto Miles’ well-muscled forearm, “You need to buck up, and start showing her that you’re not the insufferable little shit you’ve represented yourself as being before it is too late.”

With no small amount of satisfaction, she glanced at Miles. “A person such as my daughter is a treasure that won’t lie undiscovered for much longer. The only reason why Courtney hasn’t been discovered by someone yet is because she doesn’t want to be discovered yet, but I can guarantee you that she won’t feel that way for long.” She took a long breath through her nose and waved her perfectly painted red nails away from herself. “For my part, I’d much rather my baby be with someone who genuinely cares about her, contrary to the act he’s put on that demonstrates otherwise.”

She knew she shouldn’t, she _really_ shouldn’t, but Rhonda’s eyes took on a mischievous gleam, “That is unless you prefer to continue sneaking around my rose garden trying to catch a glimpse of her in the afternoons.” His mouth agape, and Rhonda looking Miles up and down, she had to confess as she waved her dainty hand demonstratively, “Oh, honey, don’t look so surprised that I know you‘ve been doing that.” With a mischievous gleam in her tired eyes, Rhonda ended with no small amount of joy, “You get it honest, Miles, and please forgive me, but you’ll never be anywhere near as good at sneaking around as your mama was.”

The misguided boy looked at Mrs. Gammelthorpe as though someone had dropped a cinder block embedded with gutter nails on his head from a second story window.

Rhonda checked her watch and then smartly patted Miles‘ right thigh twice, close to his knee. “Well, as much as I have enjoyed our little chat, I need to return home, and you need to get to work.” The rest doing her some good, but still tired, Rhonda began the slow process of stiffly rising from her seat. Miles popped up beside the thin, struggling woman and gently took her forearm to brace and help lift her. Looking upwards, Rhonda nodded thanks, “Well thank you, Miles, you’re a true gentleman.” Rhonda pointed towards a general direction down Stratford Road, Slausen’s was in the distance, but the car she pointed at, thankfully, was nearby. “There is a Porsche nine thirty five parked in front of the consignment shop, that‘s what I came here in.”

The vehicle was not that far away, but Courtney’s mother seemed to be weak, and with concern, Miles wondered, “Will you to be able to walk that far, Ma‘am?” After a moment of thought, he offered, “I could go get your car and drive it up here to you so you won’t have to walk to it.” He reasoned, “I can drive stick, if you can drive my Dad’s old Packard you can drive anything, and I promise I wouldn’t grind the gears or burn the clutch.”

Thaddeus Crispin Gammelthorpe would shit red-hot bricks if he knew Miles Shortman had even dared to offer to drive his car, even to aid her. Just because she was a little more understanding and lenient with Miles, it certainly didn’t mean that her husband was.

There had been a couple of times recently when Thad expressed a desire to roll over Miles with the very same car, but the love he felt for his best friend and fear of jail prevented him the indulgence.

“That’s sweet of you to offer, dear.” Rhonda patted Miles’ forearm and he smiled because she used an affectionate term towards him. “Before I sat down a little while ago I don’t think I could have managed, but after our rest, I believe I can make it.” She noted reasonably, “After being cooped up in the house so long, I need to walk as much as possible to rebuild my strength anyway.”

“May I please walk you to your car then, Mrs. Gammelthorpe?”

Glad to see that he didn’t need prompting, Rhonda nodded. “Actually, I was counting on it,” Happy to now know Miles was what she suspected he was all along, sweet and considerate, instead of a completely thoughtless, selfish asshole, Rhonda nodded towards the bags sitting on the ground. “Well, make yourself useful, young man.” As Miles looked at the packages and then back at her quizzically, Rhonda stated, “Surely you don’t expect _me_ to carry them do you?”

Miles quickly answered with a smile, “No, ma’am, of course not.” The thoughtful boy gathered Rhonda’s things, even her large, tacky red purse and placed them on his left arm to carry, while offering his right to Mrs. Gammelthorpe.

Rhonda hated to admit it, but now she was quite impressed with Miles and rather glad she hadn’t told him to go to hell as she had considered earlier. “My husband is the only other man I know who would assume the burden of carrying a purse like that in public.”

Miles chuckled, “I am comfortable enough with my own masculinity to be seen carrying your purse, Mrs. Gammelthorpe.” He lifted it upwards a little. “With chains this big on it, maybe people will think it’s some kind of weapon.” Rhonda genuinely laughed and clutched Miles’ arm a little more tightly for support as they walked.

With his body facing towards the road on the warm sidewalk, Miles watched his charge carefully as they slowly walked to the car to make sure she didn’t trip over any proudly standing slabs of concrete or allow her foot to fall into a large crack or hole that could compromise her questionable balance.

Without him noticing, Rhonda observed the careful actions of the boy, and she felt as though she’d done a good thing that day, not only for him, but for her daughter as well. Courtney would probably be embarrassed that she knew that she was interested in Miles, but she’d seen the way her girl looked at him and tried to hide it, and it reminded her of the way Thad would look at her when they were younger.

Curly looked at her like that even _now_ , despite how sick she’d been and how she looked; and the thought of his unconditional love and the complete devotion he gave her throughout her life _and_ this entire ordeal made Rhonda’s eyes sting with tears she was grateful her sunglasses hid as she blinked them away.

Once at the car, Miles took a step down first off the curb, and then took both of Rhonda’s arms in his hands to gently brace and support her weight as she looked down and securely planted her feet on the blacktop below.

Guiding her to the driver’s side door, Miles opened it and led her to the side, and allowed Mrs. Gammelthorpe to lower herself down into the bucket seat at her own pace; carefully supporting the small of her back and making sure her head did not hit the edge of the T-top roof as she did. After she pulled her slightly swollen legs inside and fastened the harness around her waist and shoulder, Miles closed the door and walked around the rear of the car to the passenger side. The window was rolled down, so he gently poked his arms and torso through to place her shopping bags on the floorboard neatly, and then the purse on the seat beside her.

Turning the car over, and racing the engine a couple of times, Rhonda ducked down and addressed him with a smile. “Thank you for your help, Miles,”

“It was nothing, but you’re welcome, Mrs. Gammelthorpe. “ Sensing she wanted to get going, Miles politely offered thanks, “Thank you for talking to me, ma’am.” He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts, “I promise I am going to be better.”

“I will hold you to that.” Rhonda folded the middle two fingers of her right hand leaving the index finger and pinkie held straight out along with her thumb, pointing them towards her sunglass-covered eyes and then pointing them back at Miles signifying that she would be watching him. Miles lifted upwards with the intention of leaving, but Rhonda called out to him a last time, “Oh, and Miles?”

The boy ducked back down, “Yes, Ma’am?”

Rhonda waved her hand down and mentioned offhandedly, “Would you please stop bribing the dogs with leftover pancakes and halibut from your place of employment to get them to not bark at you when you visit?” Rhonda shook her head with a semi-disgusted look. “Chivas is getting fat, and it gives the other dog simply _horrible_ diarrhea.” Miles grimaced when Rhonda added as she pointed an accusatory index finger at him. “I had to throw out a perfectly good real authentic imitation Turkish rug due to that ghastly take-out of yours.” Rhonda added, “The smell was _awful_ and the rug was completely unsalvageable because of the boysenberry syrup stains.” She shuddered, “All that greasy fish, doughy pancakes, and syrup ran right through him.” Rhonda guffawed at the look on his face as she waved her hand dismissively. “Oh for heaven’s sakes, _Miles_ , I was just kidding.” Nonchalantly she ended, “I never liked that rug _anyway_!” The look on Miles’ face alone was worth the loss of the floor covering. “Tell Arnold and Helga I said hello for me, will you?”

Miles waved goodbye with an undetermined expression on his face.

Glad to be a relatively safe distance away from the car, he watched with surprise as Mrs. Gammelthorpe backed out of her parking space and then punched the accelerator after shifting gears, leaving smoke, the scent of un-combusted gasoline, and the sound of squealing tires in her wake.

Waving the smoke from his face, he thought that at least Courtney didn’t drive like that.

* * *

_Tuesday, April first, April Fools Day: Eleven o’clock p.m., The Night_

After dropping off a fairly nice, but belated birthday present to a good friend and valued ally, he had one last obligation to perform, and then he would be done with his official duties for the evening.

Despite the fact that the top ends of it were sharply spiked, it wasn’t any trick at all to hoist his legs, and then the rest of him over the tall, black painted wrought iron fence, landing in the rose garden, the first time in all of his years visiting that he had ever intruded on the property so openly.

He‘d be lying if he said he wasn‘t worried, but despite the fact that they looked mean enough to chew clean through the fence around the property and then light in on him, it was even easier to circumvent the four legged alarm systems that the Gammelthorpe’s installed a few years before.

Monkeyman generously rewarded his new acquaintances for not offering to rag him to bits for his trespass on their territory, but at the same time, gave them rather harsh stricture for the ease in which they dismissed his presence on the grounds. “You two are just about the shittiest guard dogs money can buy, do you know that?”

The larger male dog cocked its head in curiosity with the tiniest of whistling whines as the other canine, a smaller female, greedily choked down another long, cold wiener whole, gently pawing their mysterious guest on the knee, shamelessly begging for more.

With the fingers of his black glove clenched between his front teeth, their visitor in turn drew his naked fingers out of the slimy plastic wrappings that held their shared treat once more. With an imperceptible nod of his head sideways, he then pointed towards the large, red-bricked mansion with one of the fat, pink, limp logs of meat pinched between his index finger and thumb. “The mayor can fend for himself, and I’m not even going to mention that stupid boy that comes here all the time and spies on the place, but you’re both supposed to be protecting that house, and the lovely ladies dwelling inside instead of shirking your duties for snack time with a complete stranger!”

The dogs could not have cared less as he continued his overlong, obviously unwelcome sermon concerning their lack of professionalism. “You two should be ashamed of yourselves! I look like a burglar.” He raised and waved his hand in the direction of the dogs’ long snouts. “I know you’re not exactly getting paid, but whatever happened to having a little pride in your work, huh?” His hands were on his hips as the reprimand continued. “Couldn’t you at least bare your teeth and growl a little? Just for show?” Monkeyman wondered with concern as he pointed towards the mayor‘s house, “What if I were here to rob the place, or trying to sell some waterfront time share property on the banks of the Skookumchuck River, or a reverse annuity or something?”

In careless response, the two friendly German Shepherds simply wagged their tails in excitement as he finished tossing them the last of an evenly doled out pack of cold, all beef hot dog weenies. Finished with their fine but cheap snack, and seeing that they were going to get no more, the dogs huddled close to the black clad avenger, jealously vying for his attention as he roughly rubbed his hands over both of the dogs as he generously praised them. “Yes, I know, you try.” He conceded, “You’re both good dogs.” In a slightly higher pitch, Monkeyman reassured, “Yes you are!” He added with a tone of warning, “At least when you don’t chase the cats that is.” He wisely noted, “I’d stop that as soon as possible if I were you too, because you are both officially really high up on Courtney Gammelthorpe’s shit list for that offense, and let me tell you, if she is _anything_ like her mother when angry, that is not the place that you want to be.”

While he scratched underneath their chins and then behind their stiffly erect ears, Monkeyman was dismayed to find that he was simultaneously sending a dusting of shedding hair to drift over the leaves and petals of the fragrant flowers around him only to have it be ensnared by thorns.

In a time not too long ago, the lady of the house would have been much displeased with the wanton sullying of her prized roses, but unfortunately those was the least of Mrs. Gammelthorpe’s concerns now.

The hesitant man looked past the expanse of dark lawn that seemingly stretched into forever towards the great brick house and then to the only dimly lit window on that wing. Seeing the silhouette of the impatient princess move past the window of her tower, in the past, he would have been overjoyed to spend some time with one of his oldest acquaintances, and reminisce about the good old days, but circumstances had changed considerably.

With that, Monkeyman suddenly realized that this was the only time in all of his lonely existence that he ever didn’t want to see her.

Not wanting another disapproving woman to explain himself to on his hands that evening and wisely seeing that there was no further advantage in delay, Monkeyman rose from his sitting position attempting to dash the wavy tan pelage of his companions away from his clothing but finding little success. Giving up, he reached down to his side and picked up a small white box with a gold foil sticker holding it closed, a seal that had “ _Holly’s_ ” stamped into it, as his four-legged friends conspiratorially whined and pointed their soft black, damp noses upwards toward the container.

Sampling the contents with chuffing sniffs as they licked their wet chops, Monkeyman pulled the box upwards and away from their long, curious snouts. Despite the fact that his companions had gone to the added trouble of sitting without being asked and wagging their tails for good measure, the avenger was firm, cautioning them rigidly, “No, this isn’t meant for you.”

Sensing the more serious atmosphere now, the canines before him sat seemingly at attention, watching their impressive guest in anticipation of an order. Knowing that the effort at making himself more presentable was useless, the vigilante took a last fruitless swipe at the dogs’ wavy undercoat hairs clinging to his black outfit, then commanded the animals to his side, “Let’s go.”

* * *

Inside the mansion, and fresh from a warm, relaxing soak in a rose scented bath, Rhonda agonized over the myriad of choices her growing vinyl collection offered. While sequestered inside the house during her forced quarantine, and she was too ill to paint, uninterested in television, or even reading, Thad sought to alleviate the monotony and boredom she felt by buying her a turntable and a few albums that she enjoyed.

Soon enough, through her husband’s thoughtfulness and generosity, Rhonda had what was probably one of the largest vintage vinyl collections in Hillwood City. Jazz, funk, soul, seventies pop, disco, library music, even rarities that she was surprised Thad actually found, the impressive shelves in front of her strained with the weight of the soundtrack of her life, and she was grateful.

Running the pads of her soft hands across the flexible, but sturdy edges of the vertically stacked plastic covers that protected her treasures, soon Rhonda’s fingers stopped at a familiar, thin spine and lingered. Sliding the album cover from its tight place in the collection, Rhonda carefully peeled back the adhesive seal, checked her hands for any remaining traces of lotion, and then fingered inside the opening of the sleeve, carefully grasping the thin record inside.

Holding the record by the edges with the palms of her warm hands, she could see the reflection of her outstretched thumbs, and her face in the tiny grooves of the black disc. Seeing one imperfection present, she lightly puffed a tiny wisp of air from her lips to dislodge a small white speck that had settled on the album.

Satisfied that it was clean and free of any damaging dust or other contaminates, Rhonda gingerly placed the record on the turntable, switched it on, and then lifted the arm of the player to place gently upon the set of grooves that would play her chosen song.

With a warm, crinkling pop as the needle slavishly followed the grooves of the record towards her desired track, Rhonda perched on her favorite window seat to begin her silent vigil, faithfully watching across the way as she anxiously awaited her midnight visitor. As the hypnotic notes sank into her soul and drifted across the yard, the classic instrumental was as seductive as she hoped to be.

Not that she really needed it, but along with her attire for the evening, her husband’s favorite scent adorned her partially naked chest along with a favored covering of her own.

For modesty of course.

There were so many others that she could have chosen from, but tonight was special and she did want to look nice for company, so only the soft, tasteful floral printed silk robe would do.

Going in for the kill, Rhonda pulled out a heavy, gold scalloped tube secreted in the pocket of her robe to apply the final touch for the evening, her favorite rose-colored lipstick. After blotting her lips with a tissue and hurriedly disposing of it, she began to fuss with the straight black, extremely itchy wig that rested atop her bald head, ineffectively trying to tame the maddening tickle on her scalp, while simultaneously trying to keep it from being tousled.

Despite the fact that her purchase was rather expensive and looked extremely good on her head in the store, sadly, Rhonda found that in the privacy of her own home, the slightly frizzy wig looked as though it was torn from the head of a drag queen during an especially vicious fight.

Running her fingers though the natural strands of the wig once more in the vain attempt to make them behave, Rhonda thought that perhaps she shouldn’t have blown it with a dryer set on its highest setting while brushing it with hairspray when she got home.

Fiddling with it until it was acceptable, she just knew that the younger version of herself would have ridiculed her for wearing such a thing even before she put her touch on it, and snobbishly suggest that she not even bother to try to “bring it back” with that blasé tone that she had mostly abandoned in adult life.

After a last tug of her unruly locks and a last relieving scratch of her itching scalp that she hoped would satisfy the maddening urge for a while, Mrs. Gammelthorpe sighed as her visitor strode across the long, dark yard with that confident, devil may care strut that never ceased to make her blood stir.

In the good old days when she was younger and actually ran the rooftops and alleyways of Hillwood City alongside him, Rhonda couldn‘t help but be attracted to her visiting savior. After he rescued her from the obvious and God only knows what else that night all those years ago, they became closer as they grew to know each other, eventually becoming good friends.

Soon enough, friendship turned into something a little more complicated, but ultimately, a lot more enjoyable.

Depending upon her mood along with the looseness of his smart-ass tongue on a given night out, Rhonda would feel like seducing Monkeyman, or making slow, tortuous love to him in her childhood bedroom, or sometimes, outright fuck him like an animal to exhaustion on a high, concealed rooftop somewhere after one of their patrols or a training session.

There were times when she did all three in the same evening, more than once.

What _fun_.

They were much too old for such young and careless dalliances now, and she _was_ married, but that did not mean that they did not indulge in one another’s company from time to time.

Noticing movement on the south lawn, and not surprised in the least that he didn’t even bother to conceal his presence on their property, Rhonda observed that the intruder’s black outfit conveniently masked his movements, hiding them so well that he did not trigger the strategically placed motion sensors.

Thankfully, instead of being drowned in floodlights, the wax of the moon highlighted the outline of Monkeyman’s clothing, giving his lithe, muscular outline contrast in the shadows he melded with, giving her an appetizer for the eyes before he disappeared behind a slight rise on the sprawling grounds.

Knowing he was teasing, Rhonda rose slightly from the soft cushion of her window seat in expectation. Soon, as though by command, the vigilante and his canine companions emerged from the lower gardens, masked by wispy fog that clung to the dewed grass below, illuminated by the full, bright, grayish white moon that hung behind them.

Ethereal looking, the light and shadows that intermittently vied for dominance on his swaggering form made the roguish man who hunted her resemble the powerful alpha of a wolf pack, leading his feral minions on the hunt for luscious flesh and sinful pleasure.

With the accompaniment of the music in the background, Rhonda had to admit that the scene was perfect, as though it had been purloined from the pages of one of the many cheap, smutty romance novels she painted the covers for in the early days of her professional artistic career.

In that vein, as he neared, Rhonda decided to trace her spread index and middle fingers down the top of her robe to open it a tiny bit further to display more cleavage. There was absolutely no harm whatsoever in gilding the lily, and as a practical application, she thought that perhaps a generous view of her still ample bosom would distract her visitor’s attention away from the ass ugly wig atop her head.

An acquired taste, she had been saving it all for him, but as her fingers brushed the cellophane package of Monkeyman’s favorite candy, black licorice, she was unable to resist sampling herself. Caving to her own craving to tide her over until she could have what she really wanted, she gingerly opened the rigid plastic bag. Plucking a piece of the long black vine out and placing it into her moist mouth, Rhonda was surprised to find she could actually taste it, smiling wryly while looking downwards.

Near enough for him to hear, the seductress pulled the shiny end of the candy that she had been sucking on, and with a warm, welcoming smile on her face, prepared to invite her guest to climb up and inside her boudoir.

Before Rhonda could however, Monkeyman stopped short of the window, and looked down at his foot, raising it upwards a few inches, and then made a kicking motion while groaning in disgusted disbelief. “ ** _Dammit_**!”

Realizing what had occurred; Rhonda placed her hand tightly over her mouth with a puffing snicker as he inspected the sole of his boot and prodded it with a branch he unceremoniously tore from one of the boxwoods below. In turn, the canines that had been trotting beside him wisely retreated from his presence in opposite directions rather quickly as Monkeyman tried to balance on one foot and then stumbled a little only to exclaim, “Yeah you _better_ run!”

Seduction slain by slapstick, Rhonda squealed with mischievous delight as Hillwood’s avenger cut her what she knew was bound to be a nasty glare though that black, featureless cowl of his. Barely able to purchase breath in between her jagged, helpless laughter, Rhonda astutely observed, “You usually step in _that_ with your _mouth_!”

Holding his gloved hand over his masked nose, Monkeyman‘s only response was a muffled, “What in God’s name have you been _feeding_ these dogs?”

In between finishing one licorice twist and placing another between her teeth to chew, Rhonda mumbled humorously, “Ask Miles Shortman.”

“He’s been here again?” He complained, and with surprised disgust, Monkeyman wondered, “What for?”

“Same reason as you.” Rhonda laughed.

“Better _not_ be.” Choosing to omit the fact that he had seen her with the boy in question downtown that very afternoon and spoken to him for some length of time about something, with a threatening growl, Monkeyman snorted, “I’ll kick his ass!”

Cursing under his breath about damned dogs, smartass socialites, and the ignorant teenage boy he promised himself the sublime pleasure of strangling someday, Monkeyman walked backwards the rest of the way towards the bushes underneath Rhonda’s perch while dragging his booted foot across the grass in behind him.

No help at all, Mrs. Gammelthorpe, who was wholly enjoying herself at his expense, was still chortling. “I’m sorry you’re having such a shitty evening, Mr. Saltzmann.”

Struggling in futility to cleanse his soiled footwear, he spat upwards over his shoulder with true ire, “It’s not funny!”

“No, you’re right, it’s not funny.” Rhonda chortled, “It’s _hilarious_!” After cutting her another silent look that could probably kill which she couldn’t see past his mask, and finally inching himself towards the underneath of the window, Monkeyman made one last effort to abrade his soiled boot on the pine needles surrounding the flower bed. For a moment, he thought he might have destroyed part of Rhonda’s favorite patch of marigolds, but she did _not_ need to know that.

At least not until morning and he was long gone.

Satisfied that most of the offending substance was cleaned from his shoe, he looked upwards trying to work out the best way to attack the wall to get inside the house. He could show off and use the compressed air launched rope and collapsible grappling hook on his wrist, but decided upon the wrought iron trellis located under the window because the other option was overkill, his patrol equipment wasn’t cheap. He had already made his first hand and footholds, but before he could begin the process of climbing, Rhonda quit laughing, and pointed downwards asking with incredulous horror, “I know you’re not going to walk on the carpet with that boot after what you just tromped through!”

More interested in getting inside before some of the staff saw him, rather than the condition of Mrs. Gammelthorpe’s precious floor coverings, Monkeyman barely inspected his shoe before citing, “There’s not any dookie on it now!”

“Dookie?” Rhonda scoffed. “Are you five?”

He looked upwards with disdain. “It’s a lot nicer than sayin’ shit!”

Rhonda leaned forward, pointed downwards at Monkeyman’s feet and ordered authoritatively with absolutely no care for who heard, “If you want to come up here _tonight_ , Buddy, you’ll take those dirty boots off _this instant_!”

Clearly whipped, the dark avenger grumbled a barely audible protest as he obediently bent down and began to untie the offending footwear. Glancing upwards Monkeyman playfully cut the smirk off Rhonda’s face. “I can see your dirty pillows.”

“Well, then, you should count yourself extremely lucky, Saltzmann!” Obviously in need of remedial training, and clearly undeserving of seeing _any_ hint of her glorious tits anymore, Rhonda glowered at her knight in shining armor nastily as she rose and yanked the two sides of her robe more tightly across her chest to cover herself better. As he heard the seductive music inside scratch to a halt from the bedroom window above, Monkeyman bent down to remove his second boot when he felt something light, yet stiff hit the middle of his armored shoulders.

Looking to his side, Monkeyman found the offending object and then picked and held it up. “How can you do that to the candy?” Shaking his head, he added, “That’s just wrong, Mrs. Gammelthorpe.”

Threading the shiny black treat through his gloved thumb and forefinger, obviously entertaining the notion of eating it, Rhonda warned, “Don’t you dare put that in your mouth!” Humoring her for the sake of his own best interests, and thinking maybe he dragged his soiled boot where the candy landed and he couldn’t see it, Monkeyman tossed the twisted black stick behind his back. The fatter of the two dogs which had retreated from his side earlier regained a measure of courage long enough to snap up the slick piece of candy to run off with before the other could.

His shoes discarded, Monkeyman enquired, “They’re off, are you happy now?”

“I’m a woman, I’m _never_ happy!” Truer words never spoken in the entire un-recorded history of the fairer sex, Monkeyman had a good laugh at her statement. Rhonda leaned slightly forward looking downwards and nodded to her guest, “Alright, dark avenger, you can come up now.”

Gripping the small white box in his hand, effortlessly, the strong, agile man launched himself up onto the iron trellis leading up to the window Rhonda sat in, artfully exchanging foot for one-handed holds until he reached Rhonda’s window and vaulted inside the sill.

“Whew.” Monkeyman exhaled as he rose from his crouch on the floor and rose to stretch his back and then examined his gift to his benefactor to make sure it wasn’t damaged. Satisfied it wasn’t, he gingerly placed the white box on Rhonda’s chest of drawers and removed his heavy bandolier strap, making sure the two-way radio, transponder, and audio recording devices were off and unhooked before allowing it to fall to the floor before removing his gloves. “Good thing the nut job isn’t here,” Looking around the dark bedroom and then the one scented candle lit on the bureau, he wondered as he picked up Rhonda‘s gift, “He at work?”

Rhonda’s nostrils flared, “How many times do I have to ask you to **not** call Thad a _nut job_?”

“Only about a million more, Mrs. Gammelthorpe.” He snorted as he crossed his arms and nastily related, “I _hate_ that guy!”

Rhonda rolled her eyes, “I don’t know why.” Chewing yet another one of the long licorice sticks she was mindlessly eating, with a full mouth she reasoned, “He’s never done a thing to you!”

Rhonda nearly laughed at what she knew was a childish pout growing more sour by the moment under the dark black cowl her visitor wore.

“I’ve got plenty of reasons to hate him!” He spat.

Rhonda shook her head, “Name one.”

“Well, for one thing, the asshole _stole_ you from me!”

“One, he is _not_ an asshole,” Rhonda fumed as she counted with her fingers, “And two, he certainly did not _steal_ me from you!”

He stared at her incredulously through the black mask. “He bit the head off of a chicken in front of God and everyone once!”

Accustomed to explaining his odd behavior through the years, Rhonda’s eyes rolled as she made yet another excuse for one of her husband’s stranger childhood antics. “We were kids, it wasn’t alive, and that was just the one time!” Exasperated, she put her hand on her forehead with exasperation, “Why can’t people let that go?”

Rhonda’s guest crossed his arms. “I still think you should’ve married me.” He reasoned, “I mean I admit I’m odd, just look at me.” Rhonda did indeed look at him as he flexed for her, and the Monkeyman looked damn good as she twirled another piece of candy in her mouth and then slowly drew it out past her pursed lips. Salaciously examining his toned body, Rhonda wanted so badly to run her hands over the slick outfit that hid but smoothly accentuated all the hard, muscular areas that interested her most. “But I don’t do weird things like that.”

Rhonda chuckled ironically. “Says the man who gallivants all over town at all hours of the night waking up decent, hard-working folks screaming Monkeyman in that creepy way you do.”

“It’s my battle cry!” He argued with indignation.

“Yes,” Rhonda nodded, “For psychological help.” She gave him a devious grin. “Perhaps Doctor Helga Shortman piled higher and deeper can help you with that, you two seem to be awfully close.”

“That woman’s more fucked in the head than I’ll _ever_ be.” He laughed sharply.

Rhonda gasped, “Don’t say that dirty word!” She pointed the wet, limp end of another stick of licorice towards him as he took a couple to enjoy. “Heroes do not curse; it is part of Monkeyman’s unspoken credo.” Then she spied the white box in Monkeyman’s hand. “Is that what I think it is? “

Rather proud of himself, Monkeyman sat beside the woman he loved on the window seat as he presented the stylishly sealed box in the palm of his bare, outstretched hand. “Did you think that after all these years I would forget our first date?”

Rhonda gave him a look, “You do know that it isn’t really a date unless the other person with you knows that they are on a date, and they are in near proximity, right?”

“Details, Rhonda.” Monkeyman joked as he sidled closer to the beautiful woman, watching with anticipation as she painstakingly peeled the edge of the gold foil seal that held the box closed so she could preserve it. “You always do that!” Monkeyman groaned, “Why don’t you just rip the damn thing off and be done with it?”

“You know I save these!” Rhonda’s lips turned upwards to one side as he rested his elbow on the sill of the still open window. “They’re special,” She couldn’t see him do it, but he rolled his eyes. Supposedly, she saved the foil seals to help count the many times they had made love over the years. Lightly poking her finger into his chest, Monkeyman rubbed it as she commented slyly, “And you should know as well as I do that some things are done better slower rather than quickly, Mr. Saltzmann.”

The dark figure eyed Rhonda through his cowl. “We are still talking about opening boxes, right?”

She had no other answer but to laugh at the double entendre married with dirty slang terminology as he shook his head and Rhonda finally picked the foil sticker from the top of the box intact, and then lifted the folded lid of her present upwards to reveal the delicious, gourmet rarebit inside.

“My favorite, thank you!” She recognized gratefully, and as per custom, she lifted the box to her nose and inhaled. Usually she would enjoy the rich aromas of hazelnuts, vanilla, and Irish crème liqueur enrobed with white chocolate and decorated with a drizzle of dark milk chocolate. Light undertones of scent did come through, but she could not smell the true richness of the confection as well as she once did. Smiling, Rhonda generously offered, “You’ll have some with me won’t you?”

“I bought it for you to enjoy.” He politely declined.

She knew he would eat some, if for no other reason, to humor her, but some rituals needed to be honored. “There’s really no reason why the both of us can’t share, and there‘s plenty.”

Monkeyman looked downwards at the small confection, in his estimation there was barely enough for Rhonda to eat, much less for him to share. With a feigned sigh, Rhonda looked upwards. “You can’t eat with that mask on, and really, I was simply hoping that I could tempt you out of that thing and finally discover the true identity of _The Monkeyman_.”

He laughed, “Yeah, you along with the Hillwood City police department, the Washington State highway patrol, and the State Bureau of Investigation.”

“So, you’ve arrived, have you?” She scoffed dryly, “I suppose you’re actually proud of it, aren’t you?”

“Well, I think I’m worthy of their attention, and the quarter million dollar reward for information that leads to my arrest proves it.” He haughtily crossed his arms as she might. “They’re just jealous because I do the job they can’t or won’t, and a whole lot faster and better than they do.”

“There just might be something in that,” Rhonda truthfully noted as she gave him a look. ”However, I believe you garner all the attention you can handle as it is, Buddy, and need to quit making so many _friends_ on your interesting evenings out.”

“Where’s the fun in that? Besides,” He pointed at his chest with his thumb, “I have a legacy to uphold.” Deciding to humor her before they began an argument neither of them really wanted to hash out that evening, Buddy made the offer of a lifetime. “Okay, just hypothetically, if I let you see who I am, then you’d have to promise that you won’t reveal my secret identity.”

Rhonda held up her right hand, “I swear to never ever tell.”

“Alright,” Monkeyman unceremoniously consented, “Let ‘er rip.”

Putting the box down, indulgently, Rhonda placed her hands on the man’s strong shoulders, tracing the sinewy muscles underneath armored plates until her fingers grasped the thick, magnetic ridge at the base of the cowl that covered his head and kept it securely fastened to the suit he wore. Taking care as she pulled upwards gently, Rhonda rolled the cloth and carbon fiber reinforced mesh covering from the man’s head back to front revealing his face as he unhooked a thin power cord and pulled a listening device located in his right ear out.

Running her fingers though his messy, slightly sweaty bangs, after finally uncovering what adoring fans, curious journalists, vengeful enemies, and excoriating law enforcement had been wondering and offering huge sums of money for years to discover, for Rhonda, the reveal was rather anticlimactic.

“Oh, it’s _you_ , you _scoundrel_.” She smiled as she touched the tip of his nose with her finger, as he in turn took and kissed the tip of it.

Absolutely shocked at her lack of surprise, and the fact that she had a good idea who he really was all along, Buddy asked with wide eyes, “How did you know it was me?”

Rhonda grinned. “Other than the fact that it’s obvious, do you _actually_ think that I would sleep with a man that I _don’t know_?”

For the benefit of her irritation, Buddy looked to his side and pretended to ponder the notion, Rhonda promptly pointed a finger at him with a threatening tone that dragged him out of his thoughts. “Don’t think about it _too_ long!”

“No!” Quickly he answered with a mischievous grin, “Of course not.”

“Smart answer.” Her eyes squinted; Rhonda gently plucked the small truffle from its box by the sides of the brown and gold crosshatched glassine cup surrounding its bottom and sides, gently pulling the folded pleats of the brown and gold decorated paper open.

With true regret, Monkeyman said, “I would have brought you a coffee with two creams too, but it would have been hard for me to get it up here without spilling.” He reasoned logically, “It probably wouldn’t be hot anymore by the time I got here anyway.”

Grateful for his thoughtfulness, Rhonda motioned with the hand that held the small gourmet morsel. “This is more than enough, and it’s much too late for coffee anyway.” Rhonda grinned with an eyebrow raised. “We might be up _all night_.” Not believing the slight blush that colored her guest’s cheeks, polite as ever, Rhonda offered the decadent candy to him first.

The dark avenger smiled and as per custom, took the confection from Rhonda‘s fingers, in turn offering it to her, “Ladies first.”

Leaning forward, Rhonda opened her mouth slightly and bit into the top of the truffle, the slight snap of the chocolate shell audible, she raised her head and allowed the first bite to fall into her mouth, fighting the urge to chew instead of allowing it melt slowly.

Taking the candy from her guest, Rhonda peeled the paper away from the truffle and offered it to him. He tried to show the same restraint as Rhonda had, but after his bite, Monkeyman chewed and swallowed the rich indulgence with the same zeal one of the dogs outside might.

To his surprise, Rhonda had no strictures for him; she merely chuckled and lifted her hand to his mouth, gently gathering a sliver of melting white chocolate onto the pad of her thumb, placing it into her mouth to suck clean as her black eyes bore into his, full of unspoken suggestions.

His mouth slightly opened in surprise by the blatant seduction, Monkeyman lifted the truffle to Rhonda’s lips again. She in turn leaned forward, gently steadying herself on his strong shoulder with her hand. She would have taken another teasing bite of chocolate, maybe even employ the tip of her tongue, but Buddy winced, moved slightly away from her contact while groaning in discomfort under his breath when she touched the area.

With concern, Rhonda’s hand left the sore spot as worried eyes darted over the clothed area of interest. “What happened?” Then she eyed him suspiciously. “Are you hurt again, and how bad is it?”

Buddy sighed, “It’s nothing, just a scratch really.” He reasoned, “I didn’t want you to worry.”

His hostess glared. “People don’t wince, jerk their shoulder away, and groan over nothing when it‘s lightly touched, and certainly not over a scratch!” Her eyes squinted menacingly and with a tone that clearly hinted that he had better not argue with her over this issue, Rhonda ordered sternly, “Let’s see it.”

Monkeyman sighed heavily and pulled the hard armored, yet light and flexible tactical upper shirt that protected his torso from both ballistic and sharp object attacks. The concealed wound revealed, Rhonda’s irritation melted instantly into concern when she gently peeled away part of the white tape strips that held fresh white gauze in place, Rhonda gasped as she revealed a slightly reddened, jagged gash in his shoulder. The wound was recent, but not fresh, and over the years, Rhonda had both seen and treated enough of Buddy Saltzmann’s “mishaps” to know the approximate age of each wound. Eyeing the area of interest, the knowing woman noted, “That happened about three days ago, didn’t it?”

Monkeyman nodded, “Yeah, but it doesn’t hurt if you don’t touch it.” Rhonda rolled her eyes with a frustrated sigh at his logic, she had heard it before. “I was going to stop by the office and have the staff fix me up for tonight, but I was running late and didn’t have it done.” He appreciated the fact that Rhonda wasn’t tearing him a new ass verbally for not telling her he had been hurt again, but was completely surprised when she raised her head and gingerly placed her lips slightly below the slightly pink, raised flesh of his latest war wound.

Rhonda smiled, “There you go, Buddy, now you’ll heal super fast.”

Buddy’s body slightly elevated when he let out a small laugh. “Are you gonna’ kiss _all_ my manly boo boos tonight, Rhonda?”

She scoffed. “If I did that, my lips wouldn’t leave your body for a week.” She ended, “At _least_.”

“I’m not really seeing a downside here.”

Shaking her head, Rhonda questioned, “Where did you get this one?”

Buddy shrugged nonchalantly, “Some drunk guy didn’t like me stopping him from cutting another drunken guy by the dumpsters behind Tipsy'z Bar and Grill with a broken beer bottle. Instead of stabbing the dude he was pissed at, he turned on me instead, allowing the other guy to slip away, which is what I wanted in the first place.”

In the attempt of saving them from themselves, Buddy had been the focus of complete strangers’ anger and physical violence for decades. True, he sought that out on a nearly nightly basis of his own free will, but that did not mean that Rhonda had gotten used to it, or accepted that fact at all. “I hope you clobbered the son of a bitch.”

“ _Rhonda_!” Buddy scolded, “That‘s _awful_ to say, and I got off pretty easy, actually.” With a chuckle at Rhonda‘s facial expression, he wove an interesting tale. “When he came at me I easily dodged him, but when I tried to get him into a hold and wrestle him to the ground to put quick ties on him, I didn’t notice he changed hands with the bottle. When he wheeled around and tried to stab me, the tip of the sharp glass end glanced off the armor plate on my chest and dug into my forearm where the joints of the armor and the cloth of the suit meet.” He smiled and tried to put Rhonda at ease. “It was a lucky shot and the cut isn’t all that deep, but it is jagged where my skin lacerated. Because of where the wound is located, it’s my mobility that is a little limited, but I didn’t even need stitches.”

Rhonda replaced the gauze she pulled upwards and gently pressed the tape back onto Buddy’s skin. “I wish I had been with you.”

Buddy held up his hands in a surrendering gesture, “I’m glad you weren’t, by the expression on your face, I think that getting subdued by the Monkeyman would have been the least of his problems if you got your hands on him.” Buddy said with heartfelt thanks, “You always had my back when we were out together.”

“You were there for me when I needed it the most,” Rhonda’s eyes turned downwards remembering the horrible reason why they met. “You saved my life that night; of course I wanted to help keep you safe.”

Rhonda unconsciously rubbed her thumb over a specific scar on Buddy’s chest, the slight remains of a wound that betrayed the fact that it nearly killed him as Buddy gazed at Rhonda lovingly as his hand met hers, and they stroked the scar together. “I’m forever grateful I got _this one_ ,”

Rhonda gave him a look. “Oh, yeah, you _definitely_ milked this one _for sure_. “

“Well,” Buddy grinned, “I still say you saved my life more than I saved yours.”

She wasn’t so sure, but even though there were no guarantees in life, Rhonda vowed with all the certainty she could muster, “I’ll always be around to save you, Buddy.”

While holding the last portion of the sweet candy for Rhonda to eat, she allowed him to place it on her lips, but as Buddy did, she drew his face down to hers with her soft, warm hand, and as their lips met for a kiss, they shared the last of their truffle.

Unable to ignore the annoying itch underneath her wig another moment, Rhonda raised her hand to poke her short fingernail onto the area to alleviate the sensation. When done, Buddy cautiously raised his hands to her head, asking permission with his eyes.

Lowering her hand, Buddy raised his arms and carefully pulled the wig from atop Rhonda’s head and placed it to the side, and then ran his fingers over the short, soft bristles that were growing back on Rhonda’s scalp, gently massaging her head as they moved downwards.

Resigned to her fate for the moment, Rhonda said with half humor and a small laugh to ease her self-consciousness and then looked downwards. “I know I look awful.”

Buddy’s silent response was first, a kiss to the crown of her head, then a kiss lain to each of her temples, and then lifted her chin so that he could gaze deeply into her dark brown eyes.

Before bestowing another kiss, Buddy confessed with heartfelt truth, “There is nothing on the face of this earth that could ever make you not be beautiful to me, Rhonda Wellington Lloyd.”

Overcome with his acceptance, Rhonda whispered, “Gammelthorpe” as Buddy interrupted her with another kiss, this one deeper than any of the others that evening. A tear streamed down her cheek as her lips touched the juncture between the lobe of his ear and the middle of his strong jaw as she admitted, “I love you so, _so much._ ” The kind man smiled and gently diverted the salty stream with his thumb, it gently glancing over the long, deep scar decorating Rhonda’s eyebrow and cheek that brought them together all those years ago, and with a lingering kiss to her forehead, they moved to hold one another for a time, both wishing unknown to the other that this would never end.

Soon however, as it always did, Monkeyman’s embrace became more intimate, and his hungry hands began to wander, regretfully, Rhonda had to put a stop to it this time. “Put it out of your head, Buddy," She shook her head, "The chemo and radiation.”

He frowned, “What about it?”

“There’s no work around,” She motioned with her head towards her chest of drawers. “Read that pamphlet over there, it more or less says that if you try to have sex with me your weenie will rot and then fall off.”

Buddy laughed loudly at Rhonda‘s playful irreverence, “Hey, don’t threaten _me_ with a good time, Mrs. Gammelthorpe.” Cleverly, he added, “I have planned for such a complication.” She watched in curiosity as he reached down on the floor and groped in one of the pouches on his bandolier strap to produce a small foil square.

There was real reticence in Rhonda’s voice when she looked at the object pinched in between the man’s fingers, and then took it to inspect herself. Dragging it gently down his nose, she remarked as she tapped the bridge of his nose with it, “You know, the church says these things are a sin.”

Answering truthfully from his own point of view, Monkeyman shrugged. “I think it would be more of a sin to _not_ use it.” Knowing she was bound to be tired, and had most likely overdone it on her feet that day if the gargantuan piles of bags from what looked like most of the shops in town were any indication, the considerate man proffered, “If you don’t feel like this,”

Rhonda gently placed her finger on his lips to quiet him.

She wanted this man, she had always wanted him in one way or another since they had met, and she wanted him so badly tonight she did not know what to do.

She thought and was told that she was getting better, but that could change just as it did this same time last year when she felt fine and didn’t even know she was sick.

As such, Rhonda did not know how much time left she had if any, or if she would ever have another chance to do this with him ever again, but…

She wasn’t _sick_ tonight, she was not _tired_ tonight, she wasn’t _weak_ tonight, and she wasn’t dying, at least _not_ tonight.

No, tonight, Rhonda was twenty again, with _decades_ ahead of her to run with, fight with, and _love_ this beautiful, thoughtful, honorable man sitting beside her, and she for one was not going to waste this precious moment for _anything_.

Her mind more than made up to live rather than regret that evening, Rhonda announced with a wry smile as she tickled Buddy under his chin, “Oh, you’re not getting out of this _that_ easily, Mister Saltzmann.” She traced her fingers down his scarred chest, and when she reached the muscles of his abdomen, Rhonda bent her fingers back so that her nails lightly brushed them, only to move them upwards again to place her index finger tip gently on the cleft of his strong chin. “You belong to _me_ tonight.” When a light giggle escaped his lips, and the man rubbed his hand across his stomach to alleviate the pleasant tickle, Rhonda’s eyebrow arched upwards. “And now I know the Monkeyman’s deadly weakness.”

“It's true, one of my few weaknesses really _is_ you, Mrs. Gammelthorpe.” The man rose, and as she had done so many times before as he stooped to pick up and carry her, Rhonda placed her arm around her hero’s strong, broad shoulders and gripped his neck with the other.

She was never heavy, but now Monkeyman noticed that Rhonda was noticeably lighter, too light, and for a moment, he wondered if he should make his excuses and leave because she needed to rest.

All thoughts of departure left his mind when Monkeyman felt warm breath caress the shell of his ear as Rhonda methodically placed a kiss there, then to his jaw, and lastly a long, lingering kiss to his neck that might have turned into a gentle nip soothed with her tongue that already threatened to make his knees buckle.

Gently placing his beautiful lover on the bed, straddling her as she gripped his forearms, Buddy realized that this night was never meant for him at all, but for her.

Being the defender of the weak, downtrodden of his adopted city, and sworn to serve everyone who dwelled there, Monkeyman was determined that it was his duty for this to be an evening for the love of his life to remember for all time.

With the crooked sideways smile that he knew Rhonda loved, he slowly drew the strings that held Rhonda’s robe together, opening it in aching increments as his knee and muscular thigh parted her legs while his hand roamed underneath Rhonda’s thigh pulling it upwards, his lips and tongue easily finding hers.

Soon, Rhonda’s sighs whispered in his ear, and as her hands gently but insistently roamed and tugged away the last interfering vestiges of his clothing, all inhibitions and thoughts of later left Buddy for him to live in the now as he began the pleasurably slow act of loving the body that betrayed his lover’s radiant soul.

In the darkness pierced by individual beams of moonlight and the soft glow of candlelight, Rhonda’s head pressed into her pillow with a low moan as she heard his declaration of her complete ownership of him body and soul whispered hotly into her neck as his ministrations became more insistent and Rhonda’s nails dragged down his bare back,

“ _If I had a million years, I still wouldn’t have time enough to tell you how much I love you_.”

* * *

_April 2, 4:23 A.M._

Alone with his thoughts, and unable to sleep, Buddy took a long, deep breath through the nose.

He tried not to shake the bed as he turned in it so as not to rouse Rhonda while she rested.

Examining the small, thin frame that slowly moved beside him along with the bald head that rested on her pillow, Buddy slavishly counted the breaths Rhonda took in as a stinging sensation throbbed in his eyes while watching the slight rise and fall of her chest.

As a tear finally broke free and began to roll uncomfortably downwards into his ear, he swiped it away along with the annoying tickle it produced.

Seeing all the mistakes he made in his life, he felt he had no right to ask God anything for himself, but as Buddy reached out and lightly wound his strong arm around the fragile woman so he could be closer to her warmth, he begged in silence for Rhonda to be well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Arnold was created by Craig Bartlett and is owned by Viacom Inc. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> The name Buddy Saltzmann comes from the instrumental, Buddy Saltzmann's Hideout, composed by Torsten Heller and performed by The Maxwell Implosion. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred.
> 
> Rhonda’s late night music is the instrumental, Rise, composed by Andy Armer, Randy Badazz, performed by Herb Alpert, and owned by A&M Records. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred
> 
> The titles to this two-part chapter come from the songs The Afternoon: Forever Afternoon (Tuesday Afternoon) and The Night: Nights In White Satin, featured on the album Days of Future Passed composed by Justin Heyward, and performed by The Moody Blues in conjunction with The London Festival Orchestra, Peter Norman Knight conducting. No infringement on their property is implied, nor should be inferred. 
> 
> Released in 1967, and like someone making sweet love to your ears, this experimental album was so far ahead of its time that it still stands up today. If The Moody Blues members' contracts weren't up, and they did not owe their label, Deram, money, it never would have been produced. The album Days of Future Passed served as The Moody Blues' payment in trade for the full remainder of the band members' collective monetary debts to their label, and they did not re-sign with Deram Records. 
> 
> This chapter has a connected pre-story, “Boogie Nights”, located in the “Monkeyman’s Midnight Patrol” story series.
> 
> There is also a Tipsy'z Bar & Grill located in High Point, North Carolina. I met the guy who does my taxes there.


End file.
